#psyche in a way i will never forget and continue to be haunted by to this day! now im making an oc do it uwu subjecting other ppl to it

[toytulini]

the 3 miles of disclaimers i feel compelled to write to ramble about my oc

[vinomino]

MORTEM

Immortality and reincarnation

Featuring: Suo.H x f!reader

Contents: sfw, immortal!Suo, mortal!reader, angst, hurt no comfort, death

Since the dawn of time, humans have been dreamers. Dreaming about immortal narratives. Embrace or avoid, the human psyche comforts itself in the wake of such thoughts. There are countless ways to die and it could happen at any time. Death is relentless. So to take away death is to take away the human essence itself.

Suo is clad in black. He sits on that bench again, staring out into the sea. The sun brings to rise, forming bright pebbles that ripple along the surface of the dark blue water. You had left him again. He’s lost count of how many times the two of you met. No matter what he does, he would be unable to prevent your death. During the year of your 28th birthday, you’ll always die. He should be wise, he’s lived for millenniums after all. But he cannot bring himself to let you go. Suo can only faintly remember what happened the first time he met you during your first life. In contrast, he can pinpoint the exact year it was, exactly one thousand and three hundred years ago. 

They forewarned him about falling in love with a human, it was condemned. A human lifespan will go by in a blink of an eye. You swayed his heart and kept coming back to haunt him. He witnessed your death over, and over, and over again. All the children you two had departed. He outlived all the babies he made with you. Suo was immortal, he couldn’t age, and he’d always be stuck on this earth, in this same form. 

You always came back. Whether with a different name or background, he will always recognize you. Since it was a face he’s spent his whole life trying to forget. A woman who torments him relentlessly. However, Suo can’t let you go, if he isn’t there, you’ll fall in love with someone else, and he can’t bear to witness that. But whenever you see him, you’ll fall in love, always, that’s how it goes. The indestructible cycle that he can’t break. It decays him out and whole. Suo lives in isolation waiting for you, then you leave, and so he returns to his loneliness until it lifts again. There’s nothing he can do. 

“You’ve met me before?” You chuckle at his unbelievable confession, tracing your finger over his cheekbones. “Like in a past life?” 

“Something like that,” his throat squeezes shut, trying to prevent him from continuing. “But, you always left me.” 

You watch a wet film slip over his red eye. “I won’t leave you.” 

“You will.” Suo pulls you into his bare chest, pressing you into himself, as if he were trying to force you to become one with him. His legs are intertwined with yours, this short peace that he knows will end. It will be ripped from his heart, leaving him bleeding out.

“And there’s nothing I can do.” He rasps out.

It’s helpless. Even if he locks you in a cell for a whole year, keeping you healthy and fed— no matter what he does, you end up a lifeless heap in his arms. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” You whisper and peer up at him. Suo wants to believe it, he so desperately wants to make it real. His time with you will be fleeting, he’ll be left incomplete. For someone who can’t die, Suo’s scared of dying. If he’s gone, you’ll wander this world without him until the end of time. He promised to never leave you alone. 

The lily in his hand starts to droop. The restored innocence of the soul of the departed. He took this one flower with him, unable to leave it behind. Your body no longer has a form, only existing as a pile of ashes. Suo only needs to wait twenty or sixty years to see you again. He hopes you’ll take longer to be reborn this time. To give him some peace in this suffering. 

[stellisketches]

why? please explain the soldier, port, king in excruciating detail PLEASE

EDIT: ITS FINALLY DONE i'm so sorry this took me like six months I got really busy with school work and I wanted to make sure I wasn't half-assing this anyway thank you for asking please enjoy

For reference I will be quoting the “Poet Soldier King” test on uQuiz as I feel they summarize each role most succinctly.

"You wonder, sometimes, if anger is the only thing you can feel. Remember: love is passion too. You made your own rules and will follow them to death. You try and forget that there is only one rule, and that it is "FIGHT". You are tired of fighting. You try to forget that, too, and keep going. You dream of quiet. Your love is where you heal." -Soldier

It's a subtle element but Vylad’s entire character/existence is about enduring conflict. It's an easy thing to forget due to his calm demeanor, but Vylad has been fighting since the moment he was born (hell, even before). Fighting the ill-contrived gossip of being a bastard son, fighting to prove himself a genuine Ro’Meave, and fighting against Garte and Zane’s abuse over his childhood. It’s a subtler form of conflict, but it’s very interesting to imagine how he was able to put up with all of it (I’ve planned so many prequel fics about the Ro’Meaves you guys). Then there’s the whole shadowknight topic that really is indicative of itself. Vylad's whole arc was based upon leaving behind the violence of his past as a literal soldier within the Shadow Lord's army. Again it’s really easy to forget but this is someone who was revived to burn the world to the ground and slaughter any and every man, woman, and child that got in the way of it. He told Aphmau himself in season 2: “One good deed does not fix a thousand wrongs done. I'm not a good person, let's just leave it at that. Please.” We may not have seen it on screen, but who knows how long Vylad was traveling with Sasha and Gene. I doubt Phoenix Drop was the first village they targeted, and I doubt Gene or Sasha or even Zenix were ever like “oh yeah you can wait outside while we commit atrocities on this Lord and his family and burn the whole village to the ground.” Vylad has a very practical mindset (another trait indicative of a good soldier), and it wouldn’t surprise me if he was purposefully good at his job so it would land him more opportunities to get out of the nether now and again. He enacted violence well enough that he was trusted to be sent outside the nether to go fuck up the overworld. Vylad is a man thoroughly haunted by war and the violence he’s committed against others in a way his brothers just… aren't. Sure, Garroth knows fighting and violence as a means of protection and ensuring the safety of others, but he doesn’t know war. He’s never had someone he cared about die in his arms. He’s never seen a whole village burn to the ground and see innocent people slaughtered left and right. He’s never seen a child screaming at their dead mother to get up. He may use violence, but he was never a violent person. Zane, on the other hand, most definitely was, however, but he hardly ever enacted any of the violence himself. 90% of the time it was jurors or guards he’d given orders to. And while he was more than happy to get his hands dirty every once in a while, he never felt genuine consequence from it. 

Continuing on Vylad’s inner psyche, we see after he still keeps a very practical, soldier-like mindset out of the nether in company with Aph and Co: He gets annoyed at Aphmau when she puts off telling everyone about the Tuu’la invasion. He surveys Laurance from a distance and does not interfere even in danger because he’s aware of the long term effect of distrust it would cause him. Upon the chaos in Narhaka, he immediately goes to burn books that have important locations the enemy could use against them. This is actually one of my favorite scenes because of how subtly status-quo breaking it is. Tell me right now of any scene involving book burnings done by a guy the audience is supposed to root for. Vylad’s view of the world makes him incredibly pragmatic and able to calculate the win-loss ratio of his actions and let that decide whether or not he will go through with it.

Vylad may not have the typical surface-level look of the characters often put into the category, but if you really dive into his past, his mindset, and the way he views the world, he easily fits into the role of soldier; with the final line “Your love is where you heal” setting him on the path of redemption we see throughout the whole series.

"Loneliness. Strength. Joy. You are powerful, but struggle believing it. You think you're not enough. Here's the truth : you are. You sing songs and hope they carry faith, because you have run out of it, and yet you still throw your heart out to the world and hope it makes it through. You convince yourself that pain is art because at least then, you will always have something to create. You are tired of stumbling through life. You dream of a ground you can stand on. One day, you will dance. Your love is where you feel - without fear." -Poet

Now I admit for Zane it does require a more particular perspective to place him as poet, but I’ll start simple and slowly transition to red string and corkboard. Firstly, from the original song lyrics, “He will slay you with his tongue” applies in at least two different ways. The first being obvious: Zane is incredibly charismatic- you don’t just make it to High Priest without a certain degree of people skills included but not limited to negotiating, preaching, and being able to reason your way through any theological question a questioning sinner could ask you. It’s a shame we don’t see it put into use very often throughout the series, but I think his position gives enough testament to his people skills. The second way this line applied is a bit more literal and a bit more dark, which would be the sheer amount of people who were murdered not by his hands directly, but on mere orders. He can quite literally have people slain in just a few words to the right people. Moving to the more esoteric; the line “You are powerful, but struggle believing it. You think you're not enough.” seems like it be a hitch to his characterization, as it first invokes the idea of someone who lacks self-confidence, which is FAR from what we see Zane characterized as in the story. However I see this from the lense of artists becoming blind to the depth of their own skill. Zane is powerful, but it’s not enough for him. He’s become so accustomed to the level of influence he holds he’s become desensitized to it, like how you stop feeling the cold of the water once you stay in it long enough.The power he’s been swimming in his entire life no longer brings that vitalic shudder of control he craves. Thus he seeks power that goes beyond mortal influence to raw, unchanneled divinity, as that’s the only thing that he has ever been told is above him. He hungers the same as any artist— to be something greater than they already are.

“You convince yourself that pain is art because at least then, you will always have something to create.” The idea of creation draws back to Zane’s relationship with control and divinity. I think it's highly debatable as to whether or not Zane has actual “faith” in the divine (i.e, seeing them as gods he wishes to emulate or simply as extremely powerful beings minus the religious element), but in either case it again leads back to desire for more. (sidenote: Zane’s fatal flaw being lust is such a delicious piece of irony and I could make an essay of its own on it). Anyway, back to the point I was originally trying to make: Zane sows pain and destruction as a means of asserting his power/importance both to others and himself. The “pain” spoken of would normally belong to the poet themself— but this is no ordinary poet, and there is no specific indication where said pain emerges from. 

"Duty. Strength. Resignation. You were told to do things and you did them. The world is something that was put into your hands and that you must deal with - so you will. You have a rigid back and steady hands, either metaphorically or physically. Is it nature or nurture ? You don't know. You are tired of being steady. You dream of feeling alive. Not that you aren't, but, sometimes, it's hard to remember that there is a heart between your ribs. Your love is where you breathe." -King

God where do I start. “Duty. Strength. Resignation” It’s like someone just said ‘describe Garroth in three words’. Duty has been his entire life, wanted or not, which leads directly into resignation. “You were told to do things and you did them.The world is something that was put into your hands and that you must deal with - so you will.” He learned his history. He learned the politics. He followed the dogma. He believed in Irene and his father and the glory of O’Khasis and his divine duty to lord over its people. His people. He said it himself in episode 68 he wanted to be exactly like his father, and that he thought to be lord was an honor and a privilege. To him, the weight of the world has rested upon his shoulders for so long that he becomes accustomed to each additional hardship quickly and quietly, never kicking up a fuss about his growing stress and dissatisfaction, like a frog in a pool of water that is steadily increasing in temperature. He locks his festering disdain for glorification of leadership away from his father, his family, and the rest of the world because he cannot show that he is anything but the Atlas of duty he was born to be. 

Until, one day, he has enough. He saw what happens to his dear little brother, likely the only person he felt he could truly bond with, and despite everything he still dealt with it, for the sake of the people around him, but when his father commands him to marry a girl he has never met (likely while he is still processing his grief) in the name of ‘duty’, it is the straw that breaks the camel's back. He sees that everything he has worked towards is meaningless as he will never reach a point where his father will be satisfied with him. That his father will continue to take and take from him until there is nothing left but a soulless puppet that will continue to speak his words even after his reign has ended. Every burden he has carried, every grievance he has hidden, every struggle he’s overcome and the hard work he’s put into building himself a true heir of O’Khasis— it all amounts to nothing.

So he leaves. 

Now, let me ask you: what would you do if you were a runaway prince escaping the crushing weight of expectation? Take a bunch of money from your no-good dad? Buy a boat ticket and live a new life in luxury on the other side of the world? Never work a day again and dive head first into careless relaxation? Surely, you wouldn’t look twice at a dilapidated little village on the coast. Wouldn’t bother to stop by and lift a finger to help it. You're free, you have a whole life of sweet exemption to look forward to. You wouldn’t give it the time of day.

“You have a rigid back and steady hands, either metaphorically or physically. Is it nature or nurture?”

Garroth finds himself in Phoenix Drop— a rickety dead-end little town as far away from home as possible. He stays, and he helps. He keeps the village running, he helps the Lord wherever he can. He takes in the broken, starved boy he finds in the woods. He does whatever he can to improve the lives of the people around him. Why? He owes them nothing, he’s spent a lifetime crushed under the weight of people's expectations and he turns around just to find himself carrying the weight of more lives on his shoulders. He is doing everything he was taught and everything he ran away from. 

But this time it’s different. This time, he sees how he’s helping. There’s no more grating voice telling him none of the effort matters. He has a rigid back and steady hands, metaphorically and physically. For the first time in his life, he can see with his own two eyes that his effort is worth it. There isn’t doubt and lies and corruption floating in and out of his mind. Just the warm, honest smiles of the people he helps. He feels it and it is real. The question “Is it nature or nurture?” is genuine: Is Garroth helping these people out of the kindness of his heart or because it was what he was always told to do, and now that he is without the purpose he was assigned he’s leaning on something familiar? Personally, I think that’s for the audience to decide. I myself would say a mixture of both, leaning more so towards nature. But I digress. 

It’s better then, when he helps and can see that he is doing good, but of course, that peace is not to last him. With the Lord’s death and impending turmoil of Phoenix Drop, Garroth’s role in the village shifts drastically to closer resembling the role he ran away from. People are treating him with near as much kindness anymore, no. The most forgiving are losing faith and the least are blaming him. Blaming him for failing to meet their expectations. Now, as things are deteriorating, he has more than enough reason to leave. He gave it the good ol’ college try, and he failed. With the sentiments of the village becoming scarily familiar to that of his father, he should just say “fuck it” and head on off to that faraway land where no one will know his name.

But still, he doesn’t. We see him in Rebirth and how desperate he is to fix the village, to make it work. Even when everyone else is telling him to give up, he refuses. Even sinking, a captain stays on his ship. (Side note: it’s scenes like this that cause me to start tearing up people’s lawns whenever I see takes that label Garroth as having a “fear of responsibility”). And he is completely ready to either make things work or die trying, regardless of what stands in his way. 

‘You are tired of being steady. You dream of feeling alive. Not that you aren't, but, sometimes, it's hard to remember that there is a heart between your ribs.’

Aphmau wasn’t the first person he saved. Zenix had likely been around for at least a year beforehand. However Zenix was a hothead teenager in need of guidance, which simply made him become another responsibility Garroth set upon himself. Don’t get me wrong, he definitely cares for him, but their relationship is far different than the one he has with Aphmau. 

With Aphmau, he finally has someone who shares the burden. Not only that, but sharing it willingly and with a smile on her face. He’s not used to having a person who presents themselves as an equal sharer of responsibility. Much less, someone who is willing and wanting for him to put his burdens on her (At least, that’s how he sees it). He can’t remember the last time he truly allowed himself to be vulnerable with someone. All the desires he’s pushed down start to bubble back up again, and he starts to imagine things he’d long tried to do away with. He sees Aphmau as a strong leader, one whose idealism is a strength and not a weakness, and how she accomplishes things he never quite got around to doing. An admiration grows for her, yes, but that’s not what makes her different. The difference, he sees, is her vulnerability. How she allows herself to be vulnerable around him. How despite the brave face she puts on, she has just as much fear that she isn’t enough. And she tells him this, directly, because she trusts him. And all of a sudden he realizes that if she can be strong to the rest of the world, and yet still let him see her weakness, her softness, then maybe, just maybe

“Your love is where you breathe.”

He can take his armor off, too.

[flightfoot]

TRUE. Even dead though , I have a feeling he’ll continue to haunt Adrien . Losing an abusive parent can be somehow worse than losing a loving parent . You think about how things could’ve been , maybe even if it doesn’t seem a possibility, things could’ve changed and you could’ve had the relationship you longed for . Anyways , not only that but if It’s going how I think it is , there’s many people keeping secrets about his father from him AND the fact that the last time he saw him , he was being downright abusive ( not that he usually wasn’t ) , only for him to suddenly be considered a hero will probably affect him a lot

I’m sure things will get better for him over time but you never truly forget or “heal” , you just learn to live with it and continue moving forward . ( I was projecting here my bad )

I'm hoping the show goes this route, if not there are fanfics that will at least. There would definitely be lasting repercussions on Adrien's psyche with Gabriel dying the way he did, when he did.

[tomoletters]

Letter #22

I stood at the beginning of the street My childhood home staring back at me Six lanes of heavy traffic between us A house you haven't lived in for years A house I have tried everything to forget Does your ghost still haunt it's walls Or did you find what you were looking for At the end of all those vices you sought An entire lifetime spent dormantly waiting Patient, silent, without cause for thought For a moment I set memories of you aside Absorbing all the fresh window cracks Every old fern I once planted in it's yard How lively those new neon curtains are Screaming eccentricity is a skill The passing of time is one merciless beast Worse for wear, yet it's warmth still sings With a bitter-sweet smile, I close my eyes Content to know the clock will continue It's a different home now, a new story My presence wouldn't fit there anymore And what a wonderful thing that is indeed Farewell, may we never meet again

Date Written: 10th of September, 2023

It was such an odd experience revisiting my old house.

I was simply on my way to a bus stop from my friend's place and entirely forgot what street I was on. I hadn't expected to see it, until I looked up to turn the corner and saw it there just staring back at me. Good memories, bad memories, mostly things I'd like to forget. All of it came back to me at once and it froze me for a moment. I hated life almost every moment I spent there, constantly in and out of psych wards growing up just wishing I didn't have to exist.. And it felt nice viewing it with eyes that no longer fueled themselves off of anguish. It felt really, really nice. My love for the sweet parts of my childhood will remain eternal, but never in a million years would I wish to go back. I like who I am now, I'm doing well and dare I say I almost feel human for once. The distance is home to me now, warm and forgiving. I'm grateful for the road between us.

[vaporwavedoggie]

My love story (tw: talks about trauma)

The last relationship I was in, our love was passionate, like fire, but I got burnt. I tried hard to recover, hard to forgive and let go, but you can't forget trauma, especially constant nightmares you keep having because of it where you stay awake for days because you're terrified of the same memories replaying in your head and of even seeing them again. You try to shove it down, try to ignore it, but then you get yourself into a psych ward and open up to your psych/therapist while you were there about the things that happened and they put a label on you: CPTSD, they say. You try to continue to be their friend because you don't want to believe the things they've done. You can't. You've worn rose colored glasses for so long they've almost become a part of you. You think you can force yourself to forgive and forget. To let bygones be bygones. To pretend what happened never happened. You keep telling yourself they didn't mean to hurt you, that they're not these horrible people your brain keeps trying to convince you. They told you how much they loved you, that love was a promise. But the memories keep happening. They keep getting worse. You remember the constant fights, the constant accusations, overhearing them talk badly about you many times, and the one unforgivable thing he did you refuse to tell anyone because he convinced you all the other girls that claimed he did it to were all lying and so you constantly question the validity of what happened. He loved you right? He wouldnt do that to you, right? Besides, if he convinced you and many others the girls were lying, this just makes you another one of those girls, so don't bother trying. This is your punishment for not listening. This is what you get. This is what you deserve. Tell no one. Thats what you keep telling yourself, but the nightmare of that same event kept happening over and over. You remember everything in excruciating detail. You questioned if it really happened constantly because after it happened it was blocked from your memory for awhile. Then the nightmares happened and kept happening. You talk to your psych, and they tell you its a traumatic memory replaying in your head and it's a common thing that happens with victims of CPTSD. You open up to a few friends when you're hurting about it, asking some for advice. It gets back to the exes, and they remove you from their life which was honestly a blessing in disguise because you didn't realize how much worse you were making things for yourself by keeping yourself in the illusion that they ever even remotely cared about you or loved you. Your psych gives you stronger meds and all the therapists you go to refer you to a specialist because they are not trained to handle your trauma and your specific diagnoseses. Every day you struggle to get up out of bed on the days you do sleep, and on the days you don't, you sit on the couch, on your 3rd cup of coffee, scrolling through tiktok to fight sleep and keep the thoughts that haunt you at bay. Trying to make sure you don't have to relive what happened another night. Trying to make sure you don't see them another night. Even if the nightmare isn't that memory, it has them involved in some way, shape, or form. Like this is some sick punishment for not believing the other girls.

Then you meet him. You get into a relationship with him through another person you deeply loved. You were in a polyamorus relationship with her and him, but things didn't quite work out with her. You still love her though, and she's still one of your best friends and she holds a special place in your heart. You promise to always be there for her, always be her friend, and you will. You have been through the best and the worst together, laughed and cried together, you help raise her son which you love to death and she said you can consider him yours as well so you do. So now it's just you and him in this relationship.

You grow closer to him. You question whether or not he's the right one for you because you don't love him the same way you loved him. With the past relationship, like I said, it was like fire. Passionate. But there was constant fighting. You wonder if you craved the passion and drama and that's why you stayed so long. But the love for this man.. is like water. Cool, refreshing, comforting. Like a warm shower, calming you down after a stressful day. You liked how beautiful the fire was, but you'd keep sticking your hand in and get burnt. But with the water, no matter how often you stick your hand in it, it's always comforting. Always welcoming. Like when he holds you or tells you he loves you. Like when he looks you in the eyes and his face lights up and you two just stare at each other for a few minutes, soaking up each other's love. Like your late night talks that last for hours upon hours. You don't constantly question his love for you like your last relationship. He doesn't even have to tell you. He shows you. You've never, in your life, felt like you belonged anywhere. You felt like you were on an alien planet your whole life, craving to feel at home when you never really knew what home was to begin with. You'd try to convince yourself where you were at was home, but it wasn't. That didn't mean the people there weren't welcoming or didn't love you, but you didn't feel like you belonged. Then you come into his life. His home. His family. You feel at peace for once. You're finally in a place where you don't constantly feel the need to escape from, a place where you can relax and not be terrified of conflict or pain. You're constantly terrified it's too good to be true, that you'll be ripped away in an instant like many things have for you in the past. Like it's a dream you're waiting to wake up from. You're so terrified it's too good to be true because you've never felt this loved before. This welcomed. This wanted. Everyone in the house adores you and accepts you as one of their own. You consider them all your family. His kids adore you and confide in you. They also show you in many different ways they love you. You constantly worry to death about being a good mother for them since you've never been a parent before, but they both show you and tell you.

Your love for him grows stronger by the day. He might not think he's handsome, or worth love, or deserving of everything you give him, but you want to give him the world and more. He's your everything. The glue that holds you together. Your calm in a storm of emotions. Your happiness, and everything you've ever wanted or needed. To you, he is the image of perfection. You love him so much and wish he could see it as well. You wish he could see through your eyes all the amazing things you notice about him. How despite having similar demons to yours, he is able to get up and work a 9-5 for 5 days a week, and still take care of the family. How he's able to take care of everyone and manage to hold himself together. How despite his severe anxiety, he is able to make it through each and every day. You look up to him and admire his strength so much. You wish you could do the same.

For once, you're in a relationship where you truly feel like his equal. Not that you're below him, or he's with you just to fix you, or that you're a broken object he's trying to fix. No, he sees you as just as strong as he is despite what you go through. He admires you just as much as you admire him, despite how weak you constantly feel and how much you struggle just to go day by day. He constantly tells you how proud he is of you, how much he loves you, how you're perfect to him, how strong he sees you. And he doesn't tell you these things to break you down later. He doesn't deny you affection because it "enables bad behavior" like your last one did, treating you as if you were some dog.

No, your love for each other is gentle and kind. Not built out of the need to save you when you were broken out of pity. While you stayed in your last relationship because it was what you wanted, this one was what you needed. Kindness. Understanding. Being equals. Able to make decisions for yourself. And much much more.

You hope to live the rest of your life with him. You have never loved anyone like him before.

And you're getting legally married August 9th, at 7:30pm. In a small ceremony with just your family, in a small church you attend that accepts all walks of life. You'll have a bigger one come September 8th, on the beach in Galveston. No one dresses up as it'll be casual, not even the bride and groom, no fancy dresses or tuxedos, everyone enjoys themselves, no stress for it to be perfect. A true celebration of two becoming one, surrounded by all the people you love. Many different friends from all walks of life, family and extended family. Everyone you both hold dear to your heart. Just like you've always dreamed of since you were a little girl.

While it will be a constant battle with my mental health, we're in this together.

I love you Chris. I can't wait to be yours until the end of time.

[sasorikigai]

[ APOLOGY ]: the sender, having recently done something that hurt or upset the receiver, reunites with them and addresses the elephant in the room by greeting them with a sincerely apologetic tone.

MKX - MK11, apologizing for yet more of his absence - and this time, with the pervasive rumor of his death... in his defense, it was greatly overstated, he was merely in hidiing. still, his and takeda's presence were undoubtedly missed.

THE MANY MEANINGS OF "HEY.": A PROMPT LIST. || @kcnshi || accepting

[ APOLOGY ]: the sender, having recently done something that hurt or upset the receiver, reunites with them and addresses the elephant in the room by greeting them with a sincerely apologetic tone.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || Grief may be the last and final translation of love. The last act of loving someone, before finally letting them leave his psyche and soul. Hanzo Hasashi has come to a realization, a long time ago, that he could never sever this ouroboros; for he will get to do this, translating this last act of defiant love as long as he breaths. The sustainability of love may have been nothing if it wasn't for the all-consuming grief. It has been long subdued from being flames of anguish burning through his heart to a lingering trail of unshed tears; a faint phantom and shadows of the past, present, and future that will continue to haunt him until his last breath. Kenshi Takahashi's absence has been felt every day, as Harumi Hasashi's had in decades, perhaps even more. Hanzo sometimes forgets the merciless stretch of time, for it is vast and endless, its demarcation undefinable.

In this pandemonium, this ongoing battle for the Hourglass, Hanzo still fights his past like an engraving. He would travel back once to lay a wreath on it, commemorating the ones that perished in this unstable, precarious existence of it all. Then he would meet his discarded self, unclean and criminal, rebuking every honor and trust he upheld within the Shirai Ryu. While formidable, he is far away from being the dictator of Fate; to see as the lost ones get even more lost in the threads of weaved time, to stand alone in this barren waste, all rock and bones, as Grandmaster Hasashi continues to challenge and fight certain spell of melancholy and sorrow etching his facade.

The surge of emptiness he feels is like the gust of storm rushing in; the wind of change stops by to collide against his entirety, the window slits cannot hold it anymore than Raiden's army can against Kronika's, the doors cannot hold their hinges anymore, as the pandemonium and its unpredictable consequences only exacerbates and heightens his own desperation. The Takahashis' absence amidst all of this is a mountain lodged in his chest. It's been changing the way he breathes all this time, only allowing wispy inhales and half-hearted sighs. How the resplendence of the Shirai Ryu Compound seem to mock him; as scattering petals become precious blood drops, and in the solace of loneliness, how vehement emotions etch and sculpts chasms upon his facade as they seem to transform into the aftermath of a valiant battle, supposedly with Kenshi as its inevitable victim.

Genuflecting in front of the numerous gravestones of the fallen - both nameless and honored in detail - perhaps it was his willfulness at love which carried his friend's familiar scent and gait. "You should not make an ill-advised habit of simply disappearing from the face of the Earthrealm," tense yet stern with the onslaught of clashing emotions, Grandmaster Hasashi stands erect once again, his indomitable gaze never leaving the sight of the memorial. "In my most horrifying dreams would your presence perish in the most vivid scene. I could not endure the budding pain anew, for the void of waking without those mean so much to my own existence means I too, get to touch the bottom of madness and irreversible death." ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

[appareils-futiles]

I decided to restart my LiveJournal, cause personal blogging on tumblr, aint cutting it for me, the level of privacy I desire in this life and in this decade of life, require more than just a pin code privacy of tumblr. I'm still keeping my pages, particularly this one and @leniinero, I'll be updating regularly, but the way my family is set up, I'm just tired. My friend Lorenzo has the same problem, and it got me thinking back to when I was a tween, teen and until my mid 20s, how I felt the need to learn a whole new language just to be able to have some privacy because of all the snooping. It's wild that I can't even trust my own family, yet they wonder why I never share anything with them. I still haven't found a new case, and even received a call from a different agency who got my number from my current and I didnt even know that they were allowed to do that. I am so disillusioned with this career, and honestly saw the 600$ i spent on the training, the 3 weeks of classes and the UTI/Kidney infection I got as a result as pointless. I've been thinking a lot about my life, about where it all went wrong, about what I could of done differently, about the what ifs, the should have, the have nots, the listening to others, the fear of losing a mother that never really understood me in the first place and how she saw me growing up and maturing not as a good thing but as me defying her. The pain it caused me to know that the woman that birthed me, somehow, saw me as a fuck up, yet a pain of a past she kept herself from admitting. That somehow, I, this child was kept from all she was capable of because she never made it a point, through the hell and back one goes through being an immigrant, she never bothered to learn English. I remember the look she'd give me every time she'd tell me that opportunities slipped by her because she never learned the language yet looked at me as if i was to blame. As if birthing and raising me stumped her growth. As if I chose to be here. I'm haunted by the person I could of been and every birthday, I grow one year older and one year dumber, I weep for the me that never got to be, that never had the opportunity to be herself and was never celebrated, she turned into a cynical, sarcastic, depressed, confused woman. Who has so many ideas, dreams and goals floating around in her head, yet gets nauseaus and continues to psych herself out at the mere thought of making them come true. She's so used to people putting her down and telling her they are dumb or trash talking her, she can't think straight. What you tell kids/teens stays with them forever. Don't ever forget that. Yet people wonder why I never share anything. I'll be transferring the personal posts on here over time to my livejournal then deleting them. the blog and every other type of content will stay up.

[farfromstrange]

Foreigner's God: Chapter 3

Main Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x OFC

Chapter Summary: Life has been continuously throwing curveballs at Eliza, so it’s no surprise that she forgot about the party in honor of the Sokovia Accords that is planned to set place that very night. With Tony’s unusually hostile behavior, Eliza should’ve known that the night was bound to end in disaster. She just didn’t think it would happen like this. 

Warnings: Vivid flashback at the beginning, official announcement of the age gap (about 11 years), Karen being suspicious (and executing it badly), language, mentions of mental illness, and use of the word 'sex' more than once, a lot of foreshadowing and fluff!

Word Count: 20k

Reader Chapter 3: I Think He Knows here on AO3!

“Beware, this is the age of miracles.”

She couldn’t remember when exactly everything began. She figured it must’ve been somewhere around her fifth or sixth birthday - no matter how she twisted or turned the pictures of what she could remember, there was no telling what timeline the events fell into. The day she woke up in the secluded room in a place she couldn’t recognize was unknown. Only a handful of people remembered the exact order of events, and they were either dead, exiled, or refused to talk now. 

She judged by the little things she could remember, which wasn’t nearly enough to quell the thirst for information. She distantly remembered that the doctors celebrated her change of age. However, the most excited had been the man in the black suit. They didn’t celebrate her birthday for the same reason that small-town families celebrate birthday parties, it was more an act of acknowledgment of her “coming of age”. Subjecting the children to the horrors too young in life meant they would’ve died too soon. Hardly anyone passed the first stage. Most of them died after the first series of injections and those who miraculously survived the torture didn’t make it off the table when the second phase rolled around. So the doctors and the man in the black suit chose to wait until one day, their most promising candidate reached an age with which they felt comfortable. 

Life before the White Room was a blur. The gaping holes should’ve been filled with childhood memories, instead, they were hollow. The things she did remember were absolutely cruel, horrendous pictures she wished she could just delete from the hard drive and never have to think about ever again. Though the demons always came to haunt her at night and sometimes, when the day was just as cruel, the pictures chased her twenty-four hours without taking a break. Her feet hurt from running. 

If our memory worked like a computer, life would be so much easier. I believe it was Sigmund Freud who researched the human conscience and the hidden subconscious. He put a name on the phenomenon of preventing what’s unacceptable to the conscious mind to push all the way to the front lines.  Repression , he called it. Not just the mentally ill use it as a defensive mechanism to prevent the stress of anxiety, even the psyche of the average person is capable of doing it. 

Most importantly though, repression is a response to trauma. 

If we could reboot our brains and build a new conscience from scratch in which trauma and pain don’t have a place, at least half of the world’s population would be much happier, but we weren’t made to forget the things that shape us as people in the first place. 

The human brain is and always has been an enigma. A Rubix cube without a solution, IKEA furniture without a manual – it’s too complicated. The answers we are looking for don’t exist. Not even psychologists like Sigmund Freud or Carl Jung managed to explain the depths of the human mind without holes in their theories and just like the endless sea that’s still mostly undiscovered, chances are that we will never truly reach the bottom of the glass without drowning first. 

They called it the White Room for the most basic of reasons. All the rooms in the building (she believed it was a building) were set out with white walls, sterile and smelling of disinfectants. Neon lights in the ceiling, no windows, only artificial boxes set into the wall in hopes of faking natural sunlight - the children there were ghastly pale, lacking vitamin D, but with the chemicals pumped into their veins, it hardly mattered what nutritions the body lacked and what not. 

The room she grew up in only had a small sink and a bed. Bathrooms were on the outside, use only allowed when asked. She remembered it, one of the few things prominent in her mind. The years of captivity and the lack of change of scenery caused the outlay of the White Room to be branded into her brain. 

When the authorities traced the building back to her and burned it down, she asked to see the pictures of the remains. Even reduced to ashes, she could see the room she grew up in vividly clearly. They burned the house of horrors down, but they could never burn her memories. 

The treatment started slowly. Ankles and wrists were tied to an apparatus, a mix of an operating table and a gurney. They placed leather belts around her limbs and torso. She was strapped in so tightly, that movement posed as useless. 

“Miracles are born here. It’s time the world sees the truth. And we’re only getting started.”

Two metal sensors stuck to either side of her skull. Needles supplied her veins with liquid that kept circulating through an apparatus next to her. The gurney stood in a secluded circle in the middle of the room, glass walls shielding the outside from her tiny body. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t escape the restraints. They were stronger than leather, stronger than steel. The flesh on her wrists was sore from all the pulling, and her body and soul exhausted. She was trapped like a deer in headlights, with the only difference being that she wasn’t standing on an open road - she was trapped in a cage while everyone else stood around the glass, just watching her. 

He was tall, the man in the black suit. Always grinning, always smiling. He told her, “We’re gonna make you better.” He told her, “Don’t be afraid, it’s all gonna be over soon.” 

She begged him to stop, but he always shushed her. He lowered the gurney and disappeared behind the glass with everyone else. His voice sounded over the speakers connected to the microphone. “This is for your protection,” he said. Somehow, she didn’t believe him. 

The first time it happened, she screamed until her lungs gave out. The pain was excruciating. Her entire body boiled with jolts of electricity. The liquid in her veins mixed with something heavier, something toxic. The sensation was like a sneeze, building up slowly and then bursting at the seams. Only the size of the explosion was much bigger. Every cell in her body seemed to deteriorate, pushing power against the foreign charge. Her mind fought the intrusion with all it had to give. The room vibrated, and objects clattered against the glass. Fast-flying projectiles came in from all directions. 

The pain tore her apart from the inside. Vessels, muscles, and skin. She broke, then fell back together again. Cells exploded and regenerated all at once. 

The first few times, she passed out. The power surges weakened her heart. Every time she thought she saw the light, so close to touching it, the shocks returned. Her heart restarted. Her nails on the inside of her palms went stiff, digging deeper, deeper, deeper until all she could feel was the hot trail of blood. She was sure the floor was colored dark red from all the fluid she lost. 

As the jolts came though, not only did her body convulse, her mind twisted too. Pictures flashed before her eyes. She saw faces that seemed familiar, tied to happy memories, but she couldn’t put a finger on them. She reached for them, reached for something to get her out of this hell, but just as she was about to wrap her small hands around the pictures, the pictures ripped apart. Lightning struck her brain. The memories burst like glass bubbles. Faces disappeared into melted skin and bones. A bonfire in the middle of nothingness. Everything burned to ashes. Instead, she heard the strange man’s voice. She heard him call for her. She heard children screaming. She heard orders shouted in all kinds of languages. The world shook. She was vibrating. 

“You’re mine,” the voice repeated. “You belong to us. You live for us. You breathe for us. We own you.” 

Subject number 666. No name, just a number. 

Tiny needles penetrated the frontal lobe. They dug deep into the flesh, searching for something. They dove for something lodged far away in the brain's fear center – the amygdala. 

The pain became unbearable. She convulsed on the chair, but the shackles kept her in place. She felt like flying. The world collapsed on her. She drowned in smoke and ashes. Instead of air, she breathed blood.

The needles finally pinched home. The red in her veins took the energy like a child to their mother. It transformed the pain into something stronger. She was overwhelmed by the sense of control that took over her entire being. Her fingers sizzled with life. She was burning again, but this time she allowed herself to feel the fire, and she used it to her advantage. 

“Do it,” the man said.

She couldn’t open her eyes. The world around her was flaming red. Her hands dug into a floor of burning sand. It didn’t hurt her. If anything, she found herself able to dance with it. The smoke danced around her, the world hers. With the power of worlds, she could do anything. She danced with the smoke, the devil’s tango, and she was the queen. She was stronger than heaven and hell. The wasteland was her world. She stood high amid nothingness and it had never felt better .

“She’s not going to survive,” someone said. The voice echoed in the sand.

“She will.”

“You know how many children died, sir. If we do this and she dies… she’s the last one in line.”

“She can bare it,” he sounded so convinced. Perhaps she could. He was always right.

The needle hit a point in her brain that sent her senses into overdrive. The world lay at her feet. She carried it, though never letting it crush her underneath its weight. She felt the sand, felt the air, felt the smoke – she suddenly felt every little thing. The air was knocked out of her lungs. 

She fell to the sand. Her heart was beating louder and louder, faster and faster. The light spun around her in circles, glowing ciphers. Pain formed a ball in her chest – no, this wasn’t a sickness inside of her internal organs; it was no parasite eating away at her, no tumor making her hallucinate this unspoken power. She stared straight into the depths of her soul and she could see it all so clearly. The people around her, their fear, their pain, their anger. What they felt, she could see, she could feel and she could control it. Without trying, she knew she held the reins to the horse that was the weight of the world. The emotions, the pain, and the suffering. It was all in her hands. The stories that came with the scars on the human soul, the subjective reality they lived in; she saw everything so goddamn clearly. She was the eye, the see-it-all. 

She was born to serve, born to destroy, born to bend all souls to her will and make the world crumble at the root of her existence. 

Before her, the red, slimy substance danced to the beat of her heart. Her hand reached out, eyes still closed. As it belonged to her, the substance slithered its way toward the girl on the ground.

The scream broke out, a lion from his cage. Her body fell back, on her knees, chest wide open. The slug entered in a stormy wave, breaking through her bones until it hit the back of her soul. She inhaled everything left to give. Red filled her veins, her bones. She came back to her body, something she had been so scared of, so dissociated from – she found the one thing that had been missing. 

The world stopped shaking then.

She felt him smile. “I told you,” he said. “She’s the strongest of them all.”

“What did you do to me?” she asked quietly. She couldn’t comprehend the view of the red smoke dancing around her fingers.  

He turned to the microphone, his smile wide and the insanity at home in his eyes. “You died,” he spoke to her, mesmerized. So many different feelings, so much pain. She flinched at the baggage the sole sound of his voice loaded onto her chest. 

“You died.” There it was again. “But you lived.”

As far as explanations went, this one made the least sense. 

She stared through the glass. Her head tilted. The urge to break through it, to tear the people behind apart piece by piece, and to feel the power again seemed to drive her. Her soul burned with the purpose of domination. She wanted to feel them, drain them and make them dance like smoke to the rules of her mind. 

The ball hit the cage, but it didn’t crack. Red smoke shot through the room. The glass never once budged. She huffed, angry, and tried again, stronger. She tried to wrap the cord around one of the men. She searched for a leak. Why? Simply because she could. 

Finally, his veins glowed red. She saw herself in his helpless eyes as the man in the black suit watched from a distance. They made her. They owned her. The others didn’t matter, she had been told many times before. They didn’t stop her when she grabbed the poor man’s soul through the shield. She felt every ounce of him. 

Emotions are complex, she realized just when her head began to pound. So many colors at once. The pictures flashed fast, fresh and old memories coupled with the pain and the happiness she could pull with her fingers. She wanted him to burn the way she burned. She wanted him to match the pain that made her out to be who she was. She wanted them to suffer because she suffered plenty. She wanted to do whatever she wanted, and so she did. 

He reached for his tightening throat, eyes wide. 

The old doctor stared at the scene before him. “Do something!” he said. 

“No,” the man in the black suit smirked back. “Let her do what she needs.”

“Oh, Lord. This is-”

“Incredible. You really outdid yourself this time, Joseph.”

“But sir, she’s killing one of our men.”

“So let her have her fun, doctor. This man’s death is a heroic sacrifice. This right here is reason enough to celebrate that we just opened the doors to making history.”

She savored the feeling. It tasted oh so sweet. Never had she felt more in control than the moment she took his life. 

“Hm, very impressive, my child.” She saw the pride in his eyes through the now milky glass, stained by the condensation of her hot breath against the cold cage. 

She gritted her teeth. “What did you do to me?” she repeated the question. 

He chuckled at the useless anger she transmitted. “Oh, my child,” he said. “I didn’t do anything. You were simply born again.”

Eliza shot up on the kitchen floor. The tiles underneath her gleamed with cold sweat. She shivered. The temperature of her skin spiked, but her blood ran cold. She was freezing. 

The sun was already out and shining through the windows. The oven clock read 7:23. If she remembered correctly, her alarm was set for eight. 

She lifted her aching body off the floor. Every muscle protested. She downed two glasses of water to still the dry ache in her throat. 

The nightmares came and went. Often, she couldn’t even remember what she saw before she woke up. It had been a while since a dream this graphic continued for as long as it did. Eliza was losing her grip on reality. Sanity slipped through her fingers like water through a sieve. 

While she stood in the shower, she had to remind herself she wasn’t alone. Tony was an asshole, yes, and he didn’t believe her, but she wasn’t alone. She barely knew the masked vigilante, but Daredevil trusted her and in a way, they were connected. An invisible string tied their hearts together. 

As an Avenger, missions were easily explained by the obvious. Aliens, robots, super villains – these things were certain. This new life, however, was in no way the same. 

Eliza didn’t know how the story would continue or how it would end. She didn’t expect the world to turn so drastically because, in her mind, the world had already stopped. She expected a lot of things – she expected Tony to lose it, Natasha and the others to be caught, and she even expected a world-altering event that would eventually bring them together just so they could all die together in the end, but Hydra was never on the schedule.

The uncertainty was slowly killing her. Even as she tried to tell herself that some things just cannot be expected, she knew she was lying to herself. She was naked in the wrath of Hydra as they got ready to destroy everyone in their wake. 

Yet none of those things brought the unlikely duo anywhere near figuring out the truth - if it was even true or just a nightmare, or a stupid trick that was played on Eliza to drive her crazy. And the fact that she wasn’t smart enough or strong enough to manage this like she was taught to do made the hate and self-doubt bubble up inside of her like a geyser.

She looked at her face in the mirror. The dark circles under her eyes were impossible to cover. Even with concealer, she could’ve passed as the zombie bride. “What happened to us?” she asked herself.

We grew up.

If this was what adulthood looked like, she didn’t want it.

At exactly 8:30 there was a knock on her door. 

“Happy!” she said.

“Good morning!” he eyed her carefully. “You alright?” he asked. 

“I’m fine,” she smiled. “I’m almost done. Come on in.”

“How was your night?” He took a suspicious look around, but nothing seemed out of place. 

“It was good, yeah.” She’s always been an excellent liar. 

Happy stood helpless in the apartment. “I brought coffee,” and he handed her the cup. 

“Is that what I think it is?” Eliza grinned. 

The panic in his eyes began to spread. “A- a normal cappuccino with two sugars?” he said. 

She inhaled the roast. “Hmm,” she agreed, “perfect.”

He tried to look mean, but he still cracked up in the end. “We’ve got a lot of work to do today,” he told her on the way to the black limousine parked out front. 

“Yeah, like what?”

“What, did you forget?” He opened the door for her.

“No,” she instantly replied. “Of course not. I won't forget something as important as this.” 

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Great.” 

The automatic window between the front and the back seat was open. He turned around to face her, eyebrows slightly knitted, and she already knew then and there that she fucked up. He didn’t even have to say it. He knew she was lying, or he suspected her to, and the guilty look she couldn’t help but put on only proved his theory right. 

“Just so we’re on the same page, what am I talking about again?” 

Eliza opened her mouth. Her left foot was already halfway into the trap. She gave it at least ten seconds of contemplation before she said, “The thing. You know, the important thing we have to do. Can’t believe you don’t remember.” 

Happy pursed his lips. “Yeah, I’ve got a lot on my mind,” he played along. Of course, he did. 

“Can you refresh my memory?” he asked her. 

“It’s the thing , Happy,” Eliza said with the most conviction. 

He sighed loudly. “You forgot, didn’t you?” 

Snap. The trap went shut around her ankles.

“I did, yes.” 

“I knew it! Can’t tell you anything. You keep it for like two seconds and then it’s gone.”

“I’m sorry!” she pouted. “I really am. Would you just tell me? If it’s so important.” 

“The party, Liz,” he said. 

“The party,” she repeated.

“Yes. It’s tonight.”

“Of course, the party.” She gnawed at her bottom lip. The trap was still closed tightly, with no way to escape. “Wait, what party?” she gave in to ask. Pretending was of no use, he already had her cornered.

“Seriously? You don’t even remember that part?”

“Doesn’t ring any bells, sorry. What party?”

“The Stark Party.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “ Oh! Oh, God. Oh, shit. Fuck.”

The legendary Stark Party was an annual event. Every year, Tony Stark invited foes and friends alike to join him for an evening of food, drinking, and dancing. Most of the time, it went overboard. Eliza spent many years living alongside him. As chaotic as it sounded, Stark Parties were a lot of fun. Sure, the potential for disaster was great, but it made the thrill even more exciting. 

That particular year though, the Stark Party wasn’t the same as it used to be. The Avengers were gone, their reputation scattered at the bottom of the ocean. They were food for the dogs. The press liked to speculate and they didn’t miss their chance to tear them down more than they already were. 

The demand for Tony to come out of hiding wasn’t the occasion for the party though. Tony’s Public Relations team and his managers got together and decided it would be best for him to turn the annual event into a gala in honor of the Sokovia Accords. In light of the damning events in Berlin, he was due for an official statement, and he owed it to the people to explain.

Eliza found that stupid. Tony didn’t owe an explanation. They weren’t on good speaking terms at the moment, but back when the party first became a topic of conversation, she almost lost it. He wasn’t responsible for soothing the public’s nerves. It wasn’t his responsibility to take all the blame. He didn’t deserve to be put in the spotlight for the sole purpose of stopping the rumor mill about the Avengers.

Every side had their valid points about the decisions they made, but they missed the point of the Accords by worlds and now she was stuck between the chairs, not sure if being called a traitor or murderer was worse. She heard it all at least once. 

“The Stark party,” Eliza asked. “Is that- is that tonight ? Like later today?”

“Yeah,” Happy answered - a disappointed and scrutinizing answer. “Honestly, how could you forget?”

She shrugged. “Getting old, I guess.”

“Liz, you’re twenty-three.”

“Mid-life crisis.”

“You’re not even halfway through your life.”

“I MIGHT DIE AT THIRTY!”

He sighed as loud as he humanly could. “You drive me up the walls, you know that?”

“You know you love me,” she retorted, lips quirked up behind the lid of the coffee cup.  

The black glass between the cockpit and the backseat slowly began to drive upwards. The automatic whirring of the remote made the slow closing sound even more painful. Happy kept his eyes in the rearview mirror the entire time it took for the divider to slide between them. 

Eliza plopped her mouth open. “You’re not seriously shutting me out,” she said. “Happy Hogan!”

She faced her reflection in the dark interior. Since all of the windows in the back were tinted one-way mirrors, she found herself between shades of black and grey leather seats. 

“I’m gonna put poison in your coffee.” Chances were he could still hear her. “And then I’m gonna wash all your white shirts with pink socks and poke holes into your shoes so that every time it rains, you get wet fucking feet.”

“Woah!” The glass muffled his voice. “That is so not cool!” he said. The whirring returned as the window drove back down. 

Eliza smirked. “Hi,” she said. 

“I hate you.”

“I hate myself too.”

“That’s-” he sighed, “That’s so sad.”

She snapped her fingers dramatically, index finger now pointed at the disappearing glass. “If you’re not gonna appreciate my comedic genius, put that thing back up.”

“Your jokes aren’t funny, they’re sad,” he argued. “You’re sad. It’s a problem.”

“Ah-ah!” She silenced him with the same extended finger. “I’m the funniest person in this house as of late and you can’t argue with that ‘cause it’s true. I may be sad, but at least I’m not all broody about it like the rest of you. You guys can be pretty boring sometimes. Brings the whole mood down, and it honestly kills my spirit. We used to have a lot more fun around here.”

She shuffled in her seat, one leg crossed over the other. The seatbelt ran underneath her armpit, sunglasses on the top of her head, and the coffee cup piping hot in her left hand - in her personal opinion, she’d never looked cooler. She watched her twin in the rearview mirror next to Happy’s naturally annoying facial expression and she couldn’t help but notice how, even though her night had sucked more than it should have, she did a much better job at pretending than the people around her. 

Happy shook his head. His lips tightened. “It’s not funny,” he said.

“At least I allow my depression to bring some sparkle to my personality,” she said. “Why cry about something you can’t change, anyway? Life’s too short to feel sorry for yourself.”

Eliza removed the sunglasses from her hair and slid them up her nose. 

He frowned at the indirect insult. “I’m not feeling sorry for myself.” The defense came too quick, too fast. 

“It’s called personality , Happy. If you can’t laugh about yourself, you can’t live with yourself.”

“I laugh about myself.”

“Saying haha every time I make a joke doesn’t count as laughing.”

“It does because it’s the way I laugh. You have a problem with my laugh?”

She peeked over the brim of her sunglasses. “I think you just made my point,” she said. 

“I didn’t,” he said, insistent. 

“But you did.”

“You know what?” He pressed the button next to the steering wheel. “I can’t hear you right now.”

The window began to separate them again. 

“I only hear myself laughing. Haha .”

“Funny,” - Eliza slapped her hand against the glass - “But you’re still miserable.” The clanking of her rings against the window echoed in the secluded backseat. 

The dark was a comfort, the drive half an hour long. She sipped at the expensive paper cup Cappucino Happy got from her favorite place around the corner of her apartment (which wasn’t expensive, really, she just liked to think it was). The coffee tasted like sweet heaven on her tongue. Sometimes, when she pretended to be fine, she found herself reaching a point where she believed it. It was a fun little game that came with significantly higher stakes than therapy. There are some things that the latter just can’t fix. 

At least for the time being though, she focused on anything but the here and now. Reality almost broke her the previous night. Reality broke her in the mornings and it broke her during the day. The world was too full of pain to stop the inevitable. 

She couldn’t allow this to ruin her day. This, whatever this was. The unknown was something that unleashed years of pent-up pain and trauma and made it so much harder to push all those feelings back down. The unknown something that had a name - Hydra, but the name alone wasn’t enough to even sum up half of it, whatever it was.

When Eliza arrived at the compound, she remembered once again just how much planning went into a party of Tony Stark’s extent. It almost matched up to his ego, and what it lacked in size, it made up for in riches. Tony never hesitated to go all out with the planning. Alone the decorations were worth a middle-class worker’s monthly salary. 

The compound was the busiest it had been in years. Party planners scrambled in every possible corner, even in the driveway. The crowd of employees looked like they were closer to a mental breakdown than the main character in a horror movie stuck in the woods – Eliza felt bad for them. She saw the stress radiating off of them (literally). The explosion of colors hurt her eyes and it just wouldn’t stop. She wasn’t trying to, but the air was thick with anxiety, and she couldn’t help but absorb all the emotions that came with it. All she wanted was to make it stop, to make them stop, and to put the burning in her brain to rest for just a second so she could breathe. 

She told one of the stressed-out women she passed in the hallway to hand her the clipboard she was holding because she wanted to help, as stated. Her smile lit up the room. She handed her the pile of documents and hopped off, a few pounds of stress lighter. 

The deliveries came and went. Controlling the situation with bare hands was much more complicated than resolving the issue with the power of her mind. She realized soon enough that ‘party planner’ definitely wouldn’t go onto her list of preferred professions. 

Trays of food arrived together with an abundance of glasses in one box – for the love of God, she had no idea where they had to go – and a month’s worth of hard liquor in the other. Eventually, the woman she freed from the dreaded work came back. She shyly asked for the clipboard, telling her Tony asked for Eliza in his office. She didn’t want to, but what did she have to lose? He already made up his mind and to be honest, so had she. 

Eliza walked up to the door of his workspace. She punched in the entrance code next to the automatic doors. The lock clicked. Friday greeted her sweetly as she entered the room.

Tony stood around the big holographic table. Metal and screws littered the floor, Dum-E stood in the corner with the other robots, and used dishes from two days ago occupied the remaining free space. She didn’t even want to ask how long he’d been in there.

He finally looked up from whatever he was putting together on the hologram when he heard the AI’s voice announcing her presence. “Ah!” he clapped his hands together once, twice, and then, “There you are.”

“Hello to you, too,” Eliza said. Her eyes trailed warily around the room. She wasn’t sure what to make of the chaos - if she had to be worried or angry or impressed. It was hard to tell these days. 

“I don’t often say this,” - the tone of his voice suggested he, in fact, didn’t say this often - “But Happy told me I had to. For once, I agree with the stubborn pain in the ass. I have to tell you or else I’ll feel guilty for the rest of my life.”

“Get to the point,” she urged him. 

“My point is,” he said, “I’m sorry.”

He was right, the words as good as never left his mouth. 

“I had no right to yell at you. You were upset and I kept punishing you and I’m sorry for that, kid. I really am. Been breaking my head over it all night.”

Tony distanced himself from the table and walked over to the messy shelves in the opposite corner. He aimlessly searched around. Typical behavior - trying to apologize but refusing to be present for the apology. 

“I shouldn’t have used your past as an argument either. The drug test was uncalled for.” He still had his back turned to her. “I made a mistake. A stupid one. I admit that. It’s a new record for me. I was just trying to protect you, but I realize I might’ve overdone it or, well… executed it badly. Ah!”

He clapped his hands together again. Eliza expected him to return with whatever metal he needed for whatever he was building, but she was mistaken. He surprised her by walking up with a red box, a rather big one with a shiny bow. He placed it on the table, the blue of the holographic architectural plans reflecting off the material and shining through. 

“Here.” He patted it awkwardly. 

Eliza traced the paper. “What’s that?” she asked. 

“An apology,” he said. “No, it’s not really an apology and more of an ‘I’ll make it up to you’.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“I don’t know. I’m not good at apologizing.”

He was honest about everything he said. Even though he sucked at telling people he was sorry, he wasn’t lying. He regretted what he did. The dark circles under his eyes were signs of sleep deprivation, hours of lying awake at night and wondering what he’d done wrong, and his clothes smelled of oil and Scotch. She wasn’t the only one who’d had a rough night. 

“I wanted to call, but I’m a coward, okay? I’m not made for this kind of stuff. I don’t… I don’t apologize often. I mean, I’m right most of the time. There ain’t a lot of reasons for me to apologize. The point is, I guess I was just trying to find a way to make up for it.”

“ You have been avoiding me , Tony,” Eliza said. She kept her voice calm. 

Apologies aren’t easy. Not everyone is good at giving them, but there’s a difference between apologizing without a reason and apologizing because you truly screwed up. 

“That’s on you. I’ve been doing what you told me to. I work with Pepper now and Happy drives me home every night,” she told him. “You had every chance to come up to me and talk it out.”

“I realize that,” he said. “Wasn’t fair. I’m sorry.”

“ You weren’t fair.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

Eliza sighed. Being mad at him was awful and as far as apologies go, this wasn’t so bad – still, she couldn’t get the words out of her head, telling her to stop, telling her she was paranoid. He couldn’t apologize for that, not as long as he believed it to be true.

Tony waited patiently for her to speak again. “I accept your apology,” she said. The mature decision. “But about what happened-”

“Oh, this again.” 

“Tony-”

“I hope for your sake the next words out of your mouth are that you agree you’ve overreacted,” he said. 

Her voice only strung together incoherent words. She broke off, lips parted, with a scoff. “You saw that the father of the woman I saved got shot yesterday?” she asked him. 

“Tragic,” Tony agreed. He smacked his lips. “But that doesn’t have to mean anything. Even if it does, you can’t do anything about it. None of us can. You need to realize this. Things aren’t the way they used to be. Why?  Are you still worried about this?”

She wanted to scream yes ! but she caught the look in his eyes, stubborn like he didn’t care about anything she said, not even the smallest word, and instantly, her guard went back up. His apology was nothing but hot air. 

“No. You were right,” she said. Her smile was rock-solid; she could crash windows with it. “Just thought you wanted to know.”

He started to beam. “I knew you’d come to your senses,” he said. She bit hard into the soft tissue of her cheek. “Now, open your present.”

Eliza unclenched her fists. The anger stood dangerously close to the edge of the cliff, waiting to bubble over. The little self-control she had was barely hanging in there. 

She slowly lowered the lid of the box. Play along with it, she told herself. Play along and this can all go away. 

“Oh, wow!” The golden silk of the contents built a contrast to the dark inside. “ Wow .”

“You like it?”

Eliza had no doubt he paid a fortune for this piece of clothing. She struggled to find the right words. Something swelled in her chest, the familiar feeling of home. She felt appreciated. His gifts tended to have that effect on her. 

“It’s a suit,” he explained. 

She once told him she didn’t like to wear dresses to Stark parties. The looks and unwanted attention of misogynistic men always faltered her confidence. At least he remembered something about her. She traced the soft silk. It ran through her fingers like water. “Thanks,” she managed to say eventually. “But this was probably very expensive. I- I can’t accept that.”

He snorted at the comment. “Since when has money ever been an issue for me, huh?”

“I wish it were, sometimes.” 

“Now don’t act so disappointed. This is for you , not for me. I got the designer to tailor it. I had to pull up the measurements from when I made your Avengers suit, but it was worth it. This thing’s gonna fit like a glove.”

Would it be so bad if she just accepted the suit and flaunted a little? There was nothing awful about accepting charity. Besides, he had it coming. If she ended up saving the world without him, he was the only one to blame. 

“Thank you. I’ve always wanted to wear one like this.” She didn’t lie, she loved the color and mixed with the silky fabric, he fulfilled her childhood dreams with one simple purchase. In the light of the situation though, she felt less like a princess and more like an object to be presented for a cause none of them believed in. 

Tony drummed his fingers against the table. He wasn’t done - he still got something in front of him that seemed like it didn’t belong there. She followed his hands carefully. He hesitated with the envelope for a second, thinking of something to say as he handed it to her.

Eliza stared down. “I don’t like to be handed things,” she said. 

“You already have it,” he retorted. She waved the paper back at him. “Don’t give it back to me. No!” He raised his arms. “I’m not gonna take it back, I won’t.“

“It’s not my fault! People never hand me things. You hate it too.” 

“And because I don’t like to be handed things, I’m not gonna take it back.” She was still waving around with the envelope. “Stop! Or I’ll have Dum-E spray you.”

The robot lifted his hand at the mention of his name. Eliza glared at him. “Do not!” she warned. He lowered the extinguisher with a disappointed beep .  

“Tony,” she turned back to the man. “What is this?”

He flinched back once she began to wave again. “An invitation,” he said.

“For what? Tonight? Am I not already on the guest list?”

“Not for you, smart-ass! I decided to invite your attorneys. The Nelson and Murdock guys. Maverick and Goose. Men in Black. Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt.” He pursed his lips. “You know, there’s a lot more where that came from. I’m waiting for an answer here.” 

“You did what ?” 

“Not what I was thinking about, but yeah. I’ve been thinking. Ross might take us more serious if we were represented by a good legal team, right? Might as well give it a shot.”

“You have a point somewhere in there,” she admitted. “But you’ve got a whole list of lawyers. Top-shot law firms would lick their fingers at an invitation to this thing. These two helped me out once and even then you basically did their job for them. This is embarrassing. Why them?” she asked. 

“That’s what I thought at first,” he said. “I told myself it’s a stupid idea, but then I remembered they’re technically your lawyers and not mine. So, it would be a great idea to invite them. Get some fresh blood up in this place. Spread the news. Don’t you think so?” 

“Now you have no point there.”

“You’re right, there’s not. I just like them. That’s it. I like them. The guest list was looking a little meek, so I decided to add them last minute. Besides, the Murdock guy managed to keep you in check. If I could, I would give him the Nobel Prize.” 

He grabbed a random pencil from the stack on the table. 

“I could hire him as your babysitter,” he said. “A good-looking babysitter, a babysitter that should’ve become a model rather than a lawyer, but still a babysitter.”

“First of all,” she said, “Ouch! Second of all, I don’t need a babysitter. And third of all, this isn’t a good idea! You can’t invite them.” She was grasping at straws now.

“Why not?” he asked.

‘Because you made a complete ass out of me’, she thought. They must’ve thought she was just another spoiled child, that she didn’t have her life under control. She was a troublemaker, they read her file, and that was enough for her to blush at the thought of looking either of them in the eye ever again.

Tony tapped the pencil against the table, then followed by hitting her in the nose. “You wanna answer me or are you just gonna keep doing that adorable thinking face?”

She flinched. “It’s not adorable.”

“You’re pouting. It’s disgusting.”

“You can’t invite my lawyers!” Eliza cried out. “You can’t.” Her voice rose about two octaves higher - she sounded like a stranger to herself. 

“Woah,” he said. “I know you have a crush on that Murdock guy, just didn’t think you’d be such a schoolgirl about it. I thought you were an adult, or so you keep telling me.” 

Her brain went into full system failure. “Wh- Huh ?” 

“Don’t act like you didn’t undress him with your eyes back at the station. I saw it. I wish I hadn’t – ugh, don’t like the thought of you liking anybody – but I did. It was even more obvious than the fact that Happy’s been carrying my engagement ring for Pepper around with him since 2008.” 

She laughed. “I don’t have a crush on Matthew Murdock! It’s ridiculous,” she said. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Oh yeah, then why’s your voice so high?”

“Well… I- I mean… you’re making me very uncomfortable!” 

Tony chuckled. “Keep telling yourself that, kid.” He poured himself a glass of Scotch from the tray he always kept next to his worktable. Everywhere he went, the tray of liquor was never far behind. “They’re invited,” he stated. “End of story. I need you to bring the invitation to them. Didn’t have time to prepare the mail. The party’s in–“ he checked his watch, “–nine hours. Go to their little law firm and hand it over. Maybe don’t have sex while you’re at it. I’m not ready to be a grandfather just yet.”

“Oh, my God, Tony!” The blood hammered hard against her cheeks. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

“Nothing, just stating the obvious.”

“None of that’s obvious because it isn’t true !” She whined in defeat, “I don’t even know the guy.”

Eliza was already sexually confused about everything and everyone and now that he’d planted the possibility in her head, she couldn’t help but overthink that she might find Matthew Murdock particularly attractive. 

Tony wasn’t playing a fair game.

He set his glass down. “You have lunch break now anyway,” he said. “You can use that time to be productive. Already cleared that with Pepper. She agrees that this would be good for you. Anyway, I’m supposed to be your boss today, so I don’t want to tell you twice. Off you go,” - he clapped - “Chop, chop!”

With the suit under her arm and the envelope in her rather sweaty hands, Eliza made her way out of the workspace. She had to get down to Hell’s Kitchen, give them the envelope, and then run as fast as she could. That way she could forego making a fool out of herself again. Keeping conversation to a minimum, just hand it over and leave. Math was harder. Math would always be harder.

✧

Nelson & Murdock. Attorneys at Law.

“Hi, do you remember me?” she rehearsed, nervously jumping from one foot to the other. “I’m the girl that got herself in a fuck ton of trouble the other night and you came to bail me out. Beat up some guys in a butcher shop. The Avenger girl with anger issues? Yeah, Tony Stark paid you off. Then he treated me like a fucking child by making a huge fucking scene for everyone to watch, which is why I’m fucking embarrassed and I can’t do this !” 

She turned around. Maybe she could slip it under the door. No, she had to enter the building for that. Perhaps Tony wouldn’t question it if she just told him they had other plans, like an important case the next day or any other lie that was even remotely better than this one. She could make it work. 

“No!” she had promised herself once she wouldn’t avoid things just because they gave her anxiety. “You can do this,” she told herself. “It’s just an invitation. It’ll be fine.”

Her heart was beating so fast, that she felt the thudding in her throat. There wasn’t enough spit in the world to make it work. 

“I can do this,” she said again.

She was still standing stiff as a tree. The envelope already crinkled at the sides from the many attempts to calm her twitching fingers.

“I can do this. Just, go in. Go.” Her legs didn’t budge. “Come on. I can always resort to shooting myself if things go wrong. It’ll be fine.”

Hesitantly, she took a step forward. “Oh, god! I can’t do this.”

The door burst open. She stumbled a few inches back. Instead of Nelson or Murdock though, an old man came out of the building. He eyed her curiously.

“Good morning,” Eliza greeted him awkwardly.

“Hello, young lady,” he said. “Were you just talking to yourself?”

“What? Me? No. No, that was someone else.”

He titled his head. “Hm. You sure you’re alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Oh, I’m fine. I just… I got a meeting with my lawyers,” she said.

“Oh, the Nelson and Murdock boys? Yes, I know them. Very nice people. Their secretary is nice too. I think her name’s Kate or somethin’. I’m no good with names. Comes with age, y’know. But the Nelson and Murdock boys? I know them. Great neighbors, and great lawyers. Great bunch of guys altogether.” 

“Oh, that’s- great .” More people meant more possibility to ridicule herself. “Very nice.” 

The man watched her with narrowed eyes. “You look nervous,” he observed.

“Yeah,” Eliza laughed.

“Young people these days! Dunno what’s your deal, kid, but allow me to tell you; sometimes you just gotta jump into the cold water to learn how to swim. We didn’t have any training wheels back in the day. If you don’t try, you’ll never know.”

She took a deep breath. The man was right. She could do this. She had to learn how to swim before she drowned. 

“Thank you,” she meant it.

The man passed her by with a lecturing finger. “Life’s too short to think about what could happen. Sometimes you just gotta do it.”

“Thanks. That was- yeah, that helped a lot. Have a good day, sir!”

“Good day to you too, lady.”

She watched him retreat with his back slightly hunched. He seemed like a happy little old man. He probably had no idea he just gave her the best kick in the ass she ever had. Eyeing him, she could’ve sworn she knew him from somewhere, but he was gone before she could put her finger on it. 

With another deep breath, she went in. Nelson & Murdock stood written on a makeshift piece of carton on the office door. She expected something a lot more sophisticated, but if you spend your life dealing with Tony Stark’s lawyers and Pepper Potts’ clientele, you get used to hot-shot stick-in-the-ass people that work and live in an expensive high-rise.

Eliza brought her fist up to the glass. She knocked carefully, afraid she might knock it out if she hit too hard.

“Come in,” the friendly female voice said from the inside.

Her hand shook around the handle.

“Hi,” she greeted.

“Oh, hello.” The blonde smiled at her. “Welcome,” – she rose from her chair – “Uh, how can I help you?” she asked.

She was a kind-hearted person, someone who always saw the good in people because she was too accustomed to the bad of her past that she desperately needed something new, something fresh in her life. Once she had that, she held onto it with all she had, even if it meant making sacrifices. The happiness of the people around her was more important than her own. She tried to keep together what belonged together even if it meant tearing herself apart inch by inch.

Eliza snapped herself out of it before the staring could get any weirder. “Yeah, hi. I’m looking for Nelson and Murdock?” she said.

The woman smiled. “You’re in the right place! I’m sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Karen Page.” She offered her hand.

“Eliza Bennett.”

“Oh, you’ve got a firm shake.“

“Jesus, sorry!” She retracted her hand. “Force of habit.”

“Oh no, it’s fine.” Karen swayed as she laughed. “So are you here for a case or…” she asked

“I’m looking for Nelson and Murdock,” Eliza said. “In, uh, person.”

Foggy gracefully twirled around the corner of his office, elbow leaning against the doorframe. “You’re in the right place, baby,” he said. “Long time no see, Miss Bennett! What’ve you been up to?”

“I haven’t killed anyone this time if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Great because otherwise, we’d have a problem.”

Eliza snorted. Upon seeing the light in his eyes she had to smile. 

“Wait,” he said, “Did you say this time ? What about last time? Did you kill someone?” He whispered the last part, knowing it wasn’t true, though there was some doubt etched in his expression. 

She shrugged. “Guess you’ll never know.” She tried to keep it light, but even her voice carried more weight than it should have.

She hadn’t killed anyone lately . She still committed murder more than once and so technically, she was lying. She was lying to everyone and herself, hoping it would turn her into someone normal, ordinary. It didn’t. She was still a killer, retired or not. 

Foggy clapped, then opened his arms as if he was doing yoga to greet the sun. “Welcome to our humble abode. You’ve met our paralegal, Karen Page. Mister Tall And Broody over there-“

The door across the hall opened. 

“Has finally decided to join us!” he said. “Matt, we’ve got a visitor. You know her. It’s our client from two days ago. You know, the one who got us paid.”

He stood with both hands on his hips. His hair was ruffled in more places than one, his cheeks flushed, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows. The red glasses looked lighter in the daylight. 

He called her name distantly. “Eliza!” she loved the sound of her name on his lips. It was different from the formal title of the last name she was given. The way he said it held a special place in her heart. 

As soon as Eliza stepped foot into the building, he could smell her. The scent of her lingered in the room like a thick cloud. He wasn’t complaining, not at all. She was everywhere. The distinctive smell of her got stuck in his nose the moment they met. He heard her heartbeat across the city. He heard her rehearse the speech in front of the building. It wasn’t like he’d been searching for her, but Eliza was so hard to get rid of that he simply gave up on trying to ignore his senses.

She lifted her hand, waving at him. “Hi,” she said. He felt the gush of wind coming from her. 

“She just waved,” Foggy told him. 

Matt chuckled. “Right. Hi .” At this point, she was sure he was teasing her intentionally. First her name, then this. He was doing it on purpose. He licked his lips, leaving a wet trail on the soft skin. “Can I- we help you?” he asked. 

Eliza cleared her throat. “I’ve got something for you,” she said.

Matt didn’t miss the way her heartbeat picked up at the sight. It had a distinctive rhythm he could make out anywhere, but the change of speed was new. She didn’t have that the first time they interacted. She’d been rather curious, worked up from the events of the night. She was still worked up, but as soon as she saw him, something changed. He could smell it. He tasted it in the air. Pheromones.

“What do you have for us, Miss Bennett?”

Eliza damned him. Little did she know he could hear exactly how her breath hitched whenever he used the name for her. He didn’t need any more proof. The taste in the air was clear as day, at least to him. He made sure to lick his lips again. He was on a sugar high by then, fueled by the victory of turning her head in circles like a carousel, and the way he behaved was utterly ridiculous now that he thought of it. 

She awkwardly cleared her throat again. “I come on behalf of Tony Stark,” she said. “He’s got something for you.”

Karen watched the exchange of the envelope with wide eyes. “Tony Stark?” she asked. “What’s going on?”

Foggy weighed the invitation in his hand. “She’s the Avenger chick I told you about,” he said. 

“Oh, she - oh, my god! I thought I remembered that face from somewhere but I couldn’t sort it. So you’re the, uh, Avenger,” – she eyed her from top to bottom and then the same in reverse, all over again as her voice faltered in tone – “I don’t know what to say. I expected you to be…” she blew her cheeks. 

“Older?” Eliza suggested.

“Yeah, maybe. I just… I didn’t think you were old, but I- well, doesn’t matter. Um, how old are you, if I may ask?” 

“Karen,” Matt said. At this point, it wasn’t yet a warning, not even a threat, but it bordered on it. 

“Twenty-three,” she said. 

Karen chuckled in disbelief. “ Twenty-three ?”

Eliza didn’t miss the jab she sent hurling towards her with the sole power of her words. She was aware of how young she was compared to everyone else. People always talked about how she wasn’t mature enough, how she didn’t fit in because she was less experienced, less educated, less old . She was twenty-three but well aware that everyone considered her a child.  

She was aware of how the people in her life always excluded her from important decisions or meetings or conversations even, simply because they believed her to be incapable of taking anything seriously. They considered her not stable or old enough for the truth. Only a handful of the Avengers ever saw her as the person she was – they saw her abilities. While trying to protect her, they still put her on an equal pedestal. 

Being the youngest had its perks, sure, but it also came with a lot of prejudice, not only in her line of work but also in the response of the media when she first landed in the Bulletin at the ripe age of nineteen. She’d learned a lot since then. 

She played it cool. 

“I’m not as young as it sounds,” she said. 

“Yeah, of course! I wasn’t insinuating anything,” Karen jumped to her defense. 

“Of course, not.” She smiled sourly. “I understand.” It wasn’t her fault that the words hurt her more than they should have. 

“Karen,” Matt’s tone turned into a warning. She entered dangerous territory.

Karen turned to him. “What?”

“I’m sorry about that,” he said, more to Eliza than anyone else. “Uh, h-how have you been, Miss Bennett?”

She took back anything she’d said about his chuckle. The most endearing thing about him, unchallenged, was his smile. His eyes crinkled at the sides while his teeth were full out – the kind of smile that was just so contagious that she became sick. 

“I hope there hasn’t been any trouble since the other night. We didn’t really get the chance to talk. Everything alright?”

She smiled, she couldn’t help it. His smile was too charming. “I’m fine,” she said. “I’m sorry about the way things ended. I didn’t want to leave you guys standing like that.”

“Oh,” he chuckled, “It’s fine. It’s not your fault, you didn’t do anything.” He touched his glasses again, keeping them in place. They weren’t slipping, he was just so damn nervous. “I- we were more worried about you. I hope Mister Stark wasn’t too angry about the whole thing.” 

“He’s a complicated person. He likes to steal the spotlight too. You guys were the ones who saved my ass. I honestly had no hope of getting out of there until you came in.”

“Well, we were just doing our jobs.”

“You’re good at your job.”

“Thank you. We, uh, don’t have many clients to compare reviews so it’s pretty hard to tell sometimes.”

“I don’t have many lawyers to compare you to either – well, I don’t have any lawyers. I usually just commit a crime and hope I get away with it. Worked pretty well ‘till now.”

“That’s awful,” he joked. “You broke your lucky streak.”

Eliza couldn’t contain the laughter. The second it left her mouth, she regretted ever making that sound. There was a reason she didn’t laugh , ever.

Matt, however, got locked in his smile. He listened to her laugh and at that moment he just prayed . Even the darkness he saw at night was nothing compared to the light lurking beneath the surface. She was just so used to the darkness that she was afraid to show who she truly was.

Someone cleared their throat next to them. “Uh, not to be a cockblock or anything,” Foggy said, “but some of us are lonely.”

A ghastly reminder that they weren’t alone. They turned to him.

“I mean, I’m not lonely. I’m pretty much in the scene, y’know. Women love me.”

Eliza squeaked, “Oh.”

Matt threw a thumbs-up. Very smooth, it was supposed to say. Well done, Foggy.

He buffed his chest. “Yeah, and I’m proud of that. Just wanted to remind you that there’s actual lonely people out there, which I am not a part of.”

His friend just shook his head. To regain at least some of his dignity, he asked, “So, this envelope. What does Stark want?”

“Right,” Eliza said. “Completely forgot about that part. Uh, I know it’s pretty late but Tony told me to inform you that there’s a party tonight, at the compound. He, uh, wants you guys there. It’s fine if you can’t make it though. He wouldn’t be mad.”

Foggy finally managed to break the seal of the envelope. He skimmed over the first few words until he found their names on the bottom and the official request, followed by the date and dress code information. “YES!” his voice boomed off the walls. 

“A party?” Matt asked.

She turned to him. “Yeah, to honor the Sokovia Accords. A bunch of politicians and their dates stuffed together in a room. You know, that kind of party. But it’s not just them, don’t worry,” she instantly back-paddled. She didn’t want to lie to them, not with the excitement in Foggy’s preciously blue eyes. “Tony just wants us to get on the public’s good side again,” she said.

Karen thought it to be safe to enter the conversation again, although she treaded lightly over broken glass. “Yeah, I heard what happened,” she said. The jab was still there. She heard it loud and clear. Though she believed Karen didn’t even notice herself. “I’m sorry. For all it’s worth, I never considered you the bad guys.” 

Eliza pursed her lips. “Thanks. That’s… yeah. Glad you think so.” There wasn’t more to it. 

“It’s tonight?” Matt questioned again.

“Yeah.”

“Are- Are you gonna be there?”

She bit her lip to stifle the pathetic giggle. “I mean, yeah. I- I kind of have to. Joining these things is kinda in my job description.” 

“So you don’t have any other plans?”

“Not really, no.” Lie. 

The double life was harder than expected. Part of her wanted to come clean because damn it! She needed to talk to someone about what was happening. Though she knew she couldn’t tell anyone. The truth would only end in chaos or get her arrested again. Matt would go crazy if he knew, she figured. He was the last person she could tell, including Tony and Pepper, especially. Happy, maybe, but she didn’t want to put him in that position. It truly was an unfortunate predicament. 

Matt hummed at her answer, not quite happy about it, but satisfied. “Okay, sounds fun. Foggy?” 

Foggy held the invitation like it was an expensive diamond. His eyes were wide, almost loving. “Oh yes,” he whispered. “We’ll be there and we’re gonna look absolutely fucking dashing !”

Eliza chuckled. “With you, I don’t doubt that.” She turned to Karen then. “You’re coming too, right?”

Karen blinked. “ Me ?” she asked.

“Yeah, you’re their paralegal. You belong to the firm. Tony invited you all, so you’re entailed.” 

“I can’t possibly- I mean, I don’t want to intrude. Parties aren’t exactly my thing.”

“Oh, come on, Karen!” Foggy said. “It’s a Stark Party. The best kind of party. A national treasure. This is-“ he lifted the black envelope, “-this is what everybody wants. Not everyone has it, it’s not an STD, thankfully. No! This thing is a rarity.”

She knew he was holding back on his excitement. He was adorable, too good for this terrible world. He was the kind of friend everyone wanted but hardly anyone appreciated just enough.

“I don’t think it’s that big of a thing anymore,” it bubbled out of Karen without thinking.

This time, Eliza couldn’t help but look offended. “I’m sorry?” she said.

“Oh! Oh, my god!” She chuckled into her hand. “It’s not- I’m sorry. Man, I’m killing it right now. I like you, I do, this is just new to me. And honestly, I’m not Foggy. I don’t think Tony Stark is such a big deal anymore.”

She was less offended now. Why is it that society always wants to pit women against each other so much that you begin to internalize it?

“Karen,” Matt warned again.

“No,” Eliza reassured her. “Tony Stark is just another rich guy with too much power and money. I get why you think that way. I just, I take easy offense when people talk about the Avengers like I didn’t just lose half my friends.”

“Yeah,” Karen smiled. “I think the same way. After the whole Wilson Fisk story, I’m a bit wary of rich people. Don’t know if you heard, but he screwed with us, almost forcing us to close our doors for good.”

“Yeah, I heard. Was pretty big in the news. Trust me, I’m not one of them. The only rich thing about me is the fact that I can steal Tony’s credit card and he would never know.”

“Really?” Foggy cut in. “Can you steal it for me?” She frowned at him. “Not that I condone credit card fraud,” he clarified. “I’m on the side of the law, of course. I was just thinking, hypothetically, could you do it?” 

Eliza shook her head slightly. “I doubt that,” she said. 

He stomped his foot. “Damn it!” 

“I can use his Amazon account though. Claim it was my idea.” 

“Prime?”

“Yeah.” 

“Could you buy me a pair of sneakers? Hypothetically .” 

“Sure,” she chuckled. “Why not?”

“Sweet!” 

“Great.” Eliza checked her watch. “Anyway, I still gotta get lunch before I get hangry and commit homicide. I’ll see you guys tonight?”

“You bet your sweet ass we will!” Foggy said.

She snapped her fingers. “That’s the spirit!”

Matt called her name again. She turned around. Her heart sank deeper into her stomach where flowers and plants grew in bulks.

“I’m gonna walk you out,” he said. 

He felt the wall down until he reached the cane placed against the corner of his office.

“You don’t have to,” she said. 

Matt smiled. “I know.”

“Oh, okay. I just-“She stepped through the door first, holding it wide open. “There you go.”

“Thank you.”

Karen and Foggy watched curiously; Eliza and Matt interacted with such ease it was almost suspicious – the door fell into their faces, but Foggy knew instantly.

“He’s not gonna come back anytime soon.”

Karen turned. “What?” she asked. 

“They’re gonna get lunch together, then Matt’s gonna make a move and she’s gonna act on it because these two idiots have got a lot of unresolved sexual tension that I don’t know where it’s coming from, but it’s there.”

“You- Matt and Eliza, really?” Karen sat down, head propped up on her hand.

“Yeah, you didn’t see it?” he asked. “Matt got all flustered the second she came in here. I’d be damned if he doesn’t take her ass out on a proper date by the end of this week. Nah, let’s give it a day. After tonight, I’m gonna plan their wedding.”

“Don’t you think she’s… I don’t know.”

“What, Karen? Annoying? She is, but so is Matt. They finish each other’s sandwiches or something, like in that Frozen song.”

“They’ve met once .”

“So? Ever heard of love at first sight? I’m not saying they’re in love, I’m just saying they need to have sex soon because I can’t watch that happen every day without either of them doing anything about it.”

“Foggy,” Karen tried again, “she’s twenty-three.”

He slowly lowered the envelope. “That’s what this is,” he said.

“What?”

“You think the age gap’s too big.”

“Yeah, I mean, ten years is a lot. Or, I think it’s eleven now, even. I know she’s not a child, but come on! She’s twenty-three, Foggy,” she said. “That girl doesn’t have her life figured out.”

“Neither does Matt.”

“What if they do end up together and she hurts him?”

Foggy continued to act unbothered. He made up his mind. “That’s not gonna happen.” He reached for the coffee cup he’d left on Karen’s desk. “He’s gonna hurt her before she can hurt him. Then they’re gonna hurt each other because that’s just the kind of people they are, Karen. They’re complicated.” 

“And that’s supposed to make it better?”

“No,” he said. “Try not to think too hard. Just because Eliza’s young doesn’t make her less eligible than someone Matt’s age. And even if it doesn’t work out, it’s none of our business.”

“Why are you being so passive-aggressive?” she asked him.

“Because you’re acting a little jealous, Karen, and I don’t like that energy up in my shipping space.”

“ What ?” 

“You heard me. Have a good lunch.”

Foggy closed the door to his office.

✧

The sun burned down on them as soon as they stepped out of the building. Eliza slowed her step. Matt stopped in front of her, cane firm in his hands. He was still smiling by the time they got out.

“Thanks,” she said. “For walking me out.”

He chuckled. “Is it too late to say that it was just an excuse to get you alone?”

“What?”

“Yeah, I, uh, I wanted to talk to you but we didn’t exactly get a chance. The walls in the office are pretty thin, so…” he said. She didn’t miss the blush he tried to hide by lowering his head.

Eliza wiped her hands on her jeans. “Oh,” was all she could say.

“I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. I-”

“Oh? No. No, I just, this all comes a little… unexpected?”

“Eliza,” he said her name again with such certainty. “Would you like to grab lunch with me?”

“Lunch?”

“Yeah, I’d like to get to know you, if you’d let me.”

Matt chuckled nervously. He mistook the change in her heartbeat for rejection. The way she couldn’t speak, too shocked to form any coherent words. He felt the doubt settle in. What did he think about asking her out, anyway? The lines were blurry; he didn’t know if this was Matthew or Daredevil deciding for him.  

“You know what,” he said, “forget I said anything. I don’t know what came over me. Some lines shouldn’t be crossed. I understand that you’re uncomfortable.” He sounded disappointed, more in himself than her. 

She didn’t like the way his head hung low, his stance changed, and the death grip on his cane. He was hurt, he thought she rejected him, but that wasn’t her intention. Eliza simply had no idea how to react to someone asking her out, especially not so gracefully.

“Oh, my god,” she said. “No! I’m not uncomfortable. Jesus, no. I’m flattered, actually.”

“But you don’t want to go out with me.” He opened his arms a little. His gesture was directed at his cane and the glasses on his face. “It’s fine,” he said. “I’m probably not the kind of man you’re looking for.”

“What?” Eliza said again.

“Yeah, the men you’re with are probably a lot more… able .“ he smacked his lips. “I just made a fool out of myself.”  

She honestly still couldn’t comprehend what was happening. The revelation that he was doubting himself because of the one thing she didn’t even notice – made her angry. 

“Matt,” she tried and this time, she found the words. Her brain finished rebooting. He lifted his head as she mentioned his name. “I’m not uncomfortable. Or, I am but not because of you. I’m uncomfortable because of myself. I’m just not used to people asking me out on dates, okay? I’m socially awkward and I don’t fucking know how to react when someone is kind to me. When someone tells me they like me I say, thank you. Who does that?” she said. “Point is, this isn’t because of you. Oh, god! I’m the idiot. And you’re… well, you’re you . Of course, I’d like to go to lunch with you. This isn’t even a question. Anyone who’d say no to that, to you, is an idiot.”

Matt exhaled the breath he’d been holding. “Men don’t ask you out?” he asked.

Eliza shrugged. “Men, women, no one does.” She’d gotten used to it fairly quickly.

“What are they, blind?”

Her eyes widened for a moment before she burst out laughing. He joined in softly. The sound of her laugh outmatched the soft singing of the birds in the trees. He wanted to frame it, tape it, and listen to it every day for the rest of his life. 

She wiped at the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said. Her laughter faded into giggles. “Well, now that we’ve established we both want it, why don’t we go and find a place to have lunch? I think I know someplace around here.” 

Matt nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

She took his hand and placed it on her upper arm like it was the most normal thing in the world for her to do. He took the offer gladly and held onto her bicep firmly, but not too hard. He wasn’t hurting her, but his hand was there and she felt it soft against her shirt.

“I’m, uh, sorry for assuming you didn’t want to go out with me because of… well, I think it’s pretty obvious. I think too much sometimes,” he said.

Eliza smiled at him. “I promise you, I’m not that kind of person. I didn’t even notice you’re blind. I mean, I did notice, but it was more like, oh that’s Matt Murdock, not oh that’s blind Matt Murdock. ”

His heart swelled. He couldn’t help it. No one had ever touched him quite as she did. Eliza had a deeper understanding of the world that most brains could only dream of having.

“I’ve noticed you didn’t even once say something about my blindness,” he said. “I blamed it on the fact we only met once, but you don’t look at me the way others do. I’m used to people walking on eggshells around me, treating me like broken glass even though I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. You don’t.”

“I mean, yeah. You’re a person. I don’t know why so many people make such a big deal about disabilities. They consider anything that goes against the neurotypical view of humanity fragile. To your left,” she paused to pull him aside. A couple passed by them. “About ten steps, crossing the street.” 

She led them to the other side.

“Anyway, where was I? Ah, yes! Once you’re on the neurodiversity spectrum, people tend to see you as less than you are because you’re disabled in some way,” she said. “Did you know, mental illness is essentially considered a disability too? Which makes most of the population disabled in one way or another. Nearly one out of five US adults live with a mental illness. That’s around twenty-six percent. Physical or mental disabilities range around sixty-one million Americans. Add that together, you have more than half of the US population that’s living with any sort of disability on a day-to-day basis.”

Matt never considered himself someone who got easily turned on. The women he was with fell for his charms easily. It was rare that he was so instantly attracted to someone. 

Eliza nudged him a little. “Few steps to the right.”

He didn’t want to talk. He wanted to listen to her, savor it until his dying breath. He couldn’t get enough of it. Eliza was getting him riled up without even knowing. 

“I know that’s just numbers and math isn’t really my thing, but I’ve studied the statistics and I can say they’re pretty accurate. Of course, there’s still the benefit of the doubt. You can’t generalize everyone just because someone treats you like porcelain once. A lot of people aren’t ableists. I like to think that there are still good people left in the world, and even if they treat you like glass, it’s easy to educate them,” she said. “Most let you. It’s the society that makes us wary of disabilities. The way we are brought up imprints the views we carry around with us. People involuntarily see the disability before they see the person. It’s not only wrong but it’s also incredibly offensive. Reducing yourself to your disability only makes you insecure, and no one should feel bad about who they are. What ?”

Matt tried so hard to keep himself together, but no matter how hard, he failed miserably. The way he smiled probably gave him away.

“Nothing,” he said, voice breathy.

“You- you’re looking at me like-“

“I can’t really look anywhere.”

“Wow!” but she laughed anyway. “No, seriously, you have this, like, expression on your face. What is it?”

“I like the sound of your voice,” he admitted.

“Oh.” Her cheeks flushed red.

She wished for him to place these stupidly plump lips on hers, to eat her like she was his last meal on death row. His voice left no space for interpretation. He was fucking horny. 

They crossed the street again. His grip tightened a little around her arm. The corner café she wanted to take him came into view slowly, beautiful flowers of a great variety planted in painted pottery outside with red windows surrounding the exterior. A touch of color in the darkness that was Hell’s Kitchen.

“Can I ask you something?” Matt said.

Eliza hummed. “Yeah?”

“Are you religious?”

“Religious?” she asked.

“Yeah, do you believe in God?”

“I don’t- I’m not-“ she scoffed, “It’s complicated.”

“How so?” he asked. 

She directed her eyes to the clear sky. ‘Do you believe in God?’ He was catholic, the question only made sense. Matt Murdock seemed like the overly dedicated type of man, after all. 

If there was one thing she loathed to talk about more than anything it was the subject of humans following the guidelines of a series of books written for the sole purpose of serving a higher power in the sky. She believed there was life beyond the universe - she knew for a fact life wasn’t limited to existence on Earth and the possibility of a multiverse wasn’t so far off. Though she struggled to have faith in something as complex as the entity of God. Many people worshipped the main character of the bible. The prophets, the angels, and even the martyrs dedicated their lives to the cause. It was remarkable, but what purpose does it serve to believe in a God that refuses to help when bad things happen to his precious human race? War, famine, sexism, racism, ableism, rape, the sterilization of little girls and so much more evil continues to happen all around the world for absolutely no reason - why would a powerful deity ignore this?

Eliza actively began to question the meaning behind blind faith and faith itself, religion, and God’s existence only after she joined SHIELD. She’d only just gotten her mind back; Hydra twisted her view on religion ever since she was a child, so having the opportunity to form her own opinion by educating herself was somewhat of a blessing in disguise. Though in search of the truth, she discovered that what she had been forced to believe didn’t add up with her perception of the world. 

She had huge respect for people like Matt who stood by their faith. He took it seriously. His mind was open enough to allow the concept to manifest. By believing in God, he proved his ability to believe in the good. What was broken, he tried his hardest to fix. He decided to take her case because he believed she was more than a basket case. She wasn’t a lost cause. His catholicism kept him going. It was impressive and as much as the question pained her to hear, she could understand why he chose to ask her something as intimate as her religious point of view. 

“You alright?” Matt asked after she’d grown significantly quieter. 

Eliza breathed out. “Yeah,” she said. Her arm tensed under his hold. He tried to soothe his thumb over her skin, but it did little to ease her muscles. She was emotionally bottled up, locked up like a maximum security prison with no means of escape, something he knew all too well. 

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” He smiled at her. 

She assured him that it was fine. “I just… I don’t even know where to begin. My whole life I’ve been somewhat conflicted about God. The question sounds so easy, but it isn’t,” she explained. “I can’t tell you why exactly, but I wasn’t allowed to talk about religion, ever. I memorized prayers and I listened to preachers, but I never learned how to deal with what I heard because I wasn’t supposed to question it.” 

He inched closer for maximum comfort, but his proximity was suffocating. The heat radiating off of him mixed with his scent made matters only worse and he didn’t even realize it. 

“I’m sorry,” his breath tickled her ear. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

He realized she was uncomfortable. He also realized it wasn’t entirely because of their conversation. She tried to hide it, but unlike lying, she wasn’t very good at pretending. Matt heard every little change in her voice. Sometimes the pitch changed, sometimes she talked faster, sometimes slower, and sometimes she made her voice sound a certain way to divert attention from what was lying underneath the several layers of cement shielding her heart from hurt. 

She could control her heartbeat to trick her body, to trick her enemies and her friends, but even completely calm, the rhythm changed significantly for his ears. A normal person wouldn’t have realized it; he knew what her heart sounded like in its natural state, when she was scared or when she was angry - when she was trying to pretend or lie, there was the smallest pick-up in heart rate and it changed the tune. 

Her voice couldn’t have been softer though. She kept up the act, even as the tension rolled down her throat like acid, and it was getting harder to breathe. 

She cleared her throat then, finally. “I suppose it’s not that I’m not religious,” she said. “I used to pray when I was a kid because I had to. I didn’t have a choice, you know. When I didn’t follow the rules, they would punish me. So I prayed. Not because I wanted to. I was just scared. I was scared of God, mostly. He was this all-powerful being and I was this little kid praying to him. I was promised that if I didn’t do as I was told, I would suffer a worse fate for my sins. So yeah, I was scared of God. Part of me still is, I guess.”

The clarification put space between them. 

“God failed me. After I became an Agent at SHIELD, I figured it was of no use to pray and hope for a happy ending. No one was listening anyway. Why should I bruise my knees if I get nothing in return, y’know?”

Matt chuckled. “Oh, yeah. I know exactly what you mean,” he said. His voice was rough, lower than usual, maybe even bitter in a way. 

She placed her hand over his where he kept it on her bicep. He flinched slightly, fingers flexing. She did it without warning, without indication. Her touch suddenly appeared and it was soft, so fucking soft, he could’ve sworn it wasn’t real, nothing but a fever dream concocted by his mind to play tricks on him and his delicate feelings. 

“How about you?” Eliza asked. “You said you were Catholic.“

The memory caused him to smile. “Yeah, I’m catholic,” he said. “I grew up that way. I believe in God, I guess I always have. It’s not something I can turn off. Once you’ve devoted your life to the cause, there’s little that can sway you, no matter how bad it hurts. As you said, it’s complicated.” 

“So how do you do it?”

“Honestly?”

“Yeah.”

“No idea.”

Her hand tightened around his hand as she laughed. 

“I’ve lost my way more than once. It’s not easy to keep believing when everything…” he sighed, “Just doesn’t feel like it’s enough.”

Eliza stared at the gravel beneath their feet. “It won’t ever be enough,” she said quietly. 

“Yeah, but I’m catholic. It’s who I am. No matter how little faith I have left, I can’t change who I am.” 

“God owns you.” 

They stopped for reasons unknown. He couldn’t have cared less. The comfort of her presence shut everything else out. He didn’t care about the family across the street, the child crying only a few feet away, nor did he care about the couples displaying their affection in every corner imaginable. It was just him, Eliza, and the sun. 

The sun stroked his face, gentle hands on his stubbled cheeks. He lifted his chin, basking in it. Hot and heavy she made her throne on his skin. The warmth reached deep into his chest, summer in his senses. Her voice and the sweet, sweet words followed the heat. They lay in the pit of his stomach, waiting to be processed, but he couldn’t. Not just yet. He felt content in her presence, all the world deaf to him. He wanted to feel safe just a little longer.

“You take the words from my mouth,” he muttered. 

Eliza pouted, “Maybe I’m a mind reader.”

“Maybe you are.” He laughed softly. “Or maybe we’re just too alike.”

“ Too? Is it a bad thing?” she asked. “For us to be alike, I mean.”

“No,” he said, certain, clear as the day. 

“Good, I’m glad.” She watched him watch the sun - he wasn’t watching it, per se, he was feeling it. Matt experienced the light with all of the remaining senses. He soaked up everything the sun had to give and then asked for more, and she gave it to him. He looked so beautiful in the yellow light. 

 “Feels like I sold my soul to him a long time ago and now-” he scoffed. She gawked at him, surprised at the honesty, no longer lost in the feeling of attraction. Rather, she was curious. “Now I have to suffer the consequences,” he said. “I’m his disciple. I grew up in a catholic orphanage. I made sacrifices to get where I am now. I just didn’t realize the kind of responsibility that comes with devotion.”

Eliza breathed softly. Her fingers caressed his again. ‘ Oh ’, she made the sound. 

“I’ve been to church a lot since the night I met you.” 

“Oh!” this time, louder. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Was it something I did?”

Matt laughed. He turned away from the sun, head tilting her way. His ears searched for the source of her voice until it appeared as if he was looking at her. 

“You didn’t do anything,” he assured her. He pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Faith doesn’t come to me as easy as it used to. I guess I just needed more proof that this devotion to God that I’ve, uh, mentioned is worth something. I want to be his disciple and still feel like I’m doing the right thing. Lately, it doesn’t feel that way. My gift begins to feel more like a curse than a blessing more and more every day.”

“Gift?”

“My blindness,” he stated. “I believe God made me that way for a reason.”

“Oh, Matthew.” She sighed softly. “What reason could he have to do that to you?” 

What reason could God have to blind a man? If he truly believed that, his behavior and antics made even more sense than they did before. 

He diverted the question. “That night at the station I realized something about the world. No matter how hard I try, there’ll always be more evil than good,” he said. “I suppose it’s one of the many reasons I’ve, uh, been going to church a lot more than before.”

Perhaps he was what the physical form of an angel looked like, or maybe he was the devil in disguise. Someone so beautiful often harbored a darker secret. Matt Murdock, the lawyer, the man who devoted his life to doing good. It was part of Catholicism, she supposed. He was the Good Samaritan, a pro-bono lawyer saving whatever hopeless cause stumbled into his arms. Little by little, he tried to make the world a better place. Too perfect to be true. She wondered what God (real or not) would think of her if he saw her in the presence of someone so faithful. 

“Isn’t it bad for you to spend time with someone like me, then?” she asked.

Matt tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“I’m no saint. Isn’t there a rule against that?”

He chuckled. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that. No,” he said, “You’re not the kind of sin I’d need to ask penance for.”

“So I’m a sin now?”

“I may be catholic, but I’m no saint either.”

“Oh, does Matthew Murdock have a dark side?”

He smirked. “Wanna find out?”

Eliza straightened his tie. His Adam’s apple bopped. “I have a better idea,” she said.

“Like what?”

“Wanna go to lunch?”

His smirk dropped into a defeated laugh. “You got me there.”

“Take me out first, then we can talk about specifics.”

“Fair game, Miss Bennett.”

She held the door open for him. “For your information, Matthew,” - she stopped into his way as he tried to tap his way forward into the room that smelled of coffee and bread - “You’re hot, but two can play this game.“

His nose barely brushed her cheek, “All I’m hearing is that you find me hot.” 

“You’re such a man-whore.“

He looked offended at the comment.

Giggling, Eliza took his hand in hers and pulled him into the warmth of the café. “Table for two,” she told the waitress. “In the corner, if it’s possible. Not too close to the kitchen.”

Matt wondered how exactly she ended up in his life, what dues he had to pay. “Thank you,” he whispered. 

“Of course.”

The waitress led them to a secluded table in the corner of the room. On the opposite of the street, the sun passed behind the highrise. The glass filtered the shrill lighting and threw soft hues of daylight in the shape of a rainbow onto their table. 

He tilted his head to listen to her heartbeat once again. Thud, thud thud, thud. “You feelin’ less anxious now?” he asked. 

Eliza frowned. “How do you know I have anxiety?” she blatantly shot back. 

“Your heart beats pretty fast when you get nervous. Happens all the time. I felt it earlier when I touched your arm. Your pulse was skyrocketing. I didn’t want to assume, but I made you laugh and now you seem less on edge.”

She pulled the chair out to him. “That’s cute but intrusive. Could easily border on offensive, too.” 

“The only offensive thing is that you’re doing the thing I’m supposed to do.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She snapped her fingers towards the chair. “Now, sit!”

He chuckled. “You’re something else.”

Eliza lowered into her chair opposite him. He discarded his suit jacket again, pulling his sleeves up. The room was too hot, even with the A/C running. She watched the muscles in his forearms flex as he undid the buttons.

Fucking Adonis in a suit. 

“You’re staring,” he said.

“Just admiring the view,” she retorted. 

“You want me to put on a show? Take my shirt off? In a public setting?”

She laughed, teeth gnawing at the inside of her cheek. He knew exactly what he was doing. She was sure of that. 

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I might,” she said. 

“Is that why you’re fidgeting with your rings?”

Eliza quickly took one off and tossed it at him. The metal bounced off his face. “Ouch.” He ran his fingers over the moons that were imprinted in the small ring. “It’s a spinner,” he realized.

“Helps with the anxiety. A friend told me about it after he saw the ad on social media.”

He took her hand and slipped it back onto whatever finger he felt was still empty on the tabletop. “You’re gonna need that,” he said. 

She feigned the most dramatic gasp her chest could conjure up. “Are we engaged now?” she asked.

His jaw slacked, eyebrows raised in mock excitement. “Oh, I think we might be. Waiter!”

“Hey!” The words sent a shock through her heart, yet she couldn’t help but laugh. Matt joined in soon after. “Oh, my god. Don’t do that! Someone might hear you.” 

“We need champagne to celebrate,” he said. “We’re engaged now. I think Foggy already planned our wedding.”

Eliza placed a hand against her chest, the left side, over her heart. “But Mister Murdock,” she said, “I don’t have a dress.”

“That can be fixed. Let’s just steal one.”

“I heard that’s illegal.”

“Nah, only if we get caught. Besides, I won’t be able to see you anyway.”

“So I could wear a trash bag and you’d still find me absolutely beautiful ?” 

“I don’t know, I can’t see.”

“Matt Murdock, you little shit!” 

He reached for the hands that covered her mouth, holding back the sound of laughter he enjoyed so much.

“Don’t do that,” he said. 

“What?” she asked.

“Hide your face when you laugh. I like the way it sounds. It’s… nice. The world’s usually so loud and hard. Your voice is calm in comparison.”

Calm. 

She scrunched her nose. “Not many people have said that to me before.” Only one, to be exact. 

She didn’t want to believe it. Her mind was screaming for her to ask the right questions, to be blankly honest with him, but the possibility didn’t seem reasonable. Why would he be the man who saved her life in a devil’s suit and a mask? He was catholic and blind. Those two reasons were big enough to cause significant doubt. 

Eliza figured she just wanted to solve the riddle of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen so badly that she started to project her frustration onto Matt. It couldn’t be true. He would have told her if it were. They were a team, after all. He even promised not to let her in on his dark secrets, so the questions in her head made even less sense. 

The lack of sleep was getting to her. 

Perhaps she was just a calm person, after all. She’d never thought of herself that way because no one’s ever cared as much as the new men in her life. She should be proud of that. 

“Not everyone listens to somebody’s voice the way I do,” he said, pulling her out of the spiral. 

She scoffed. She wanted to sigh, but it didn’t come out right. “Yeah, another thing that’s special about you.”

“You think I’m special?”

“You said you like my voice,” she said. “That’s the most beautiful compliment I’ve ever gotten. Beats ‘nice tits’ by worlds.”

“Men say that?” Matt asked. 

She looked at him, ‘Duh!’ “Oh, they do.”

He threw his head back and groaned, “That’s pathetic!”

“It is, isn’t it?”

“If you feel the need to objectify someone, maybe you should rethink your life choices and learn some manners before you approach people. No one likes a misogynistic asshole.”

Great, Eliza thought. The part of her brain responsible for rational decisions already glared at her for the trail her thoughts followed down into the gutter. He’s doing the bare minimum and you’re already on your knees. She scoffed at the voice in her head. The one time I’m asking you to keep your legs closed. 

Being bad had never felt so good as the last couple of days. She was on a roll.  

“Right?!” she scoffed highly instead. “I don’t understand why men say that. Reducing someone to their breasts… I mean, what purpose does that serve?” 

Eliza restored to what she did best – rambling. The voice piped up again, There’s something seriously wrong with you. But she ignored her. Rationality was overrated, anyway. 

“I don’t understand what some men think that’ll get them besides a sexual harassment suit,” she said. “I mean unless it’s your partner saying that to you, it’s the last thing you want to hear from some stranger at the bar. Men be like, nice tits! And then they’re offended when I tell them to fuck off. Like, what am I supposed to say? ‘Thanks for the objectification, now Marry me?’ Yeah, right.”

His eyebrows twitched. He smirked again, the mischief plastered on his face like a temporary tattoo. “You want me to direct my eyes that way to make you feel better?” he asked. 

“Can you do that?”

“Yeah, I’m doing it right now.”

“I think you’re staring at the table.”

“I am?”

She snorted, “Yeah.”

“Oh.” he grinned, shifting, and then his head bent in her direction again. “Was worth a try.”

Eliza swirled her thumb around the cup of coffee the waitress brought them some time during their conversation. “I like you,” she stated matter-of-factly. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d felt so carefree as she did at that moment. 

Matt stabbed one of the tomatoes in their shared salad. “I think we have that in common, Miss Bennett,” he said. 

“Stop calling me that! Call me Eliza, or just Liz.”

“Alright, Miss Bennett.”

She kicked him under the table. “Stop it,” she warned. 

He lifted his right foot and landed one kick right to her shin. “Hitting a defenseless blind man isn’t very progressive of you, Miss Bennett.”

“Right now, I don’t give a shit.”

His hand reached for her ankle the next time she kicked for him. “Gotcha!”

“You got a pretty good aim.” He ran his thumb over her ankle. The smirk that ate at his lips was darker than before.

“Oh, come on!” she pulled her foot from his grasp. “Get your head out of the gutter, Murdock! This – you and me – ain’t happening. We’re two friends having lunch, nothing more.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he said, but the smirk remained.

“You thought about it.”

“Can’t say I have.”

“Act innocent all you want, I can hear it in your voice.” She said the last part under her breath, sure he hadn’t heard it.

“We’ll see about that,” he chuckled into his coffee. 

Silence nestled between them. Eliza fiddled with the rings around her fingers, spinning the one she’d previously tossed at Matt counter-clockwise. The minutes passed by like seconds. She caught herself thinking back to the night before every time the world allowed her a second to breathe. The shooting, the information, the small vial she stole. People got hurt because of her. She couldn’t change that now. She would in a heartbeat, but she couldn’t. The night was a done deal. 

Daredevil could’ve died protecting her. The man she barely knew was willing to take a bullet for her, no questions asked. Hardly anyone would do that for a total stranger - he was wary of the power she harbored, yet he didn’t hesitate twice before pushing her out of the way, knowing at least one of the bullets was meant for her. He didn’t run, he stayed. He promised to listen, he promised they could do this, and they would face everything head-on, together. He promised he would come back for her and she didn’t doubt it for a second. He wasn’t the kind of man to make empty promises. 

Eliza risked the lives of more than one person in only two nights. She was too nosy for her good, both Tony and Matt had told her that. The lawyer knew without personally knowing her. It was pretty damn obvious, to say the least, that she had no regard for her safety. There weren’t many people left in her life and those who were left had a target on their backs. 

The thought settled in slowly. She tried to shove it away, blame it on the paranoia, but it nestled in there like a mother bird waiting to lay eggs. The eggs portrayed disasters waiting to happen. They could hatch anytime, without warning. Little birds of death ready to destroy everything in their way. 

“Eliza?” she snapped back at the sound of her name. Fingers brushed over her tense knuckles. 

She sucked in a sharp breath. “Sorry, what?”

The earth still spun. She was surrounded by normal people, unaware of the dangers lurking in the dark. They didn’t care about monsters, aliens, or Hydra. Their lives revolved around work, romance, friends and family, heartbreak, and sex. What was it like to live such a life, without demons infiltrating her mind on a daily?

“You just zoned out there for a second,” Matt said. 

Eliza scratched her nose. Not that it was itchy, she just didn’t know what else to do with her hands besides build pools of nervous sweat. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just got a lot on my mind.”

“Like what?”

She’d never been on a date before, not really. She doubted this was what dating would normally look like. Neither of them fit into the ordinary, but she figured it was the closest thing to ‘normal’ she’d get in a while. She had to enjoy it while it lasted.

“Work,” she answered. 

“Work?” he raised his eyebrows. “What do you, uh, work? I read in your file that you work for Stark Industries, but it’s been a while since they updated it. Sorry if that’s too personal.”

Eliza shifted in the chair. “I’m,” - how was she supposed to answer that? - “I work for Pepper Potts, yeah. Run background checks on potential clients, help with selling Stark Tech, and all that. In other words, I’m a fancy secretary for a billion Dollar company. Not something I can flex with.”

“Don’t say that,” he said. “Seems like you’re an important part of the business.”

“Nah, I just like to argue and men are afraid of me.”

That made him laugh. “Maybe you should consider law school.”

The joke cut too close to home. 

“I don’t think so,” she said, tensing up. 

“You haven’t thought about it?”

Yes. “No,” she said. 

Matt knew that it was a lie. “It seems like that’s something you’d be interested in. I’m sure I could pull some strings for you if you want.”

“That’s not possible for me.” She prayed he would just drop it. 

Matt Murdock didn’t drop it though. He hardly ever did. If he set his mind to something, he was adamant to get what he wanted. 

“Why not?” he asked. 

“I don’t have a high school degree.”

He paused. 

“And I just killed the conversation.” Eliza scoffed. “Sorry. Seems like I’m not as smart as you think I am.”

“No! No, I still think you’re smart. That just came unexpected.”

“Yeah, never went to high school. Never even set foot into one. My knowledge is limited to what I read in books or what I can find on the internet. I’m not from around here, so…”

“It’s just a degree, Eliza,” he said once he regained his composure. “A piece of paper doesn’t define who you are. You don’t need physical proof that you’re smart.”

“You don’t have to lie to protect me,” she said. 

“I’m serious. I’d never lie to you. I don’t care if you went to high school. I mean, there are courses for that. You can still go to college, or you don’t. It’s up to you. I won’t tell you what to do with your life.”

The weight lifted off her shoulders. She felt less stupid in his presence. He was a lawyer, went to law school, he did all the things she wished she’d had the time for. Matt was probably one of the smartest men she’d ever met and one of the best lawyers, too. At least he didn’t take her as a complete failure. 

“Where are you from, if I may ask?”

She jolted. How was she even supposed to answer that? His questions were so stupidly direct, that she had trouble making up something convincing enough to settle his need for information. Of course, those were questions that are frequently asked when first meeting someone, but she wasn’t like those people and he had no idea. 

There were only a handful of people that truly understood where she came from, and Matt Murdock would never be one of those. He was too innocent for that.

“I’m Russian,” Eliza said. Still seemed wrong to admit and she still felt far from it, but the truth often hurt. The truth is the reason why people lie. 

Matt tilted his head curiously. One of his thick fingers played with the brim of his cup, collecting the liquid there and pushing it back in. The action was meditative somehow. 

“Your file doesn’t say anything about where you were born, so I thought I had to ask,” he stated. “Now that I think of it, I talk a lot about your file while I should be forming my own opinion. I’m sorry.” he chuckled awkwardly. “I guess I just want to learn as much about you as possible.”

“Well, I’m glad I don’t have to ask you to explain your line of questioning to me. Sometimes I forget you’re a lawyer.”

“Yeah, the questions come with the job.”

“It’s fine,” she assured him. “No one’s ever cared this much about my life before, is all. That’s why I struggle so much with answering. I don’t even know what I’m answering about.”

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” he reminded her again. 

“I want to. I mean, I want you to understand.”

“I would love to understand.”

She smiled. “I know you do. It’s what’s so great about you.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” he chuckled softly. “So, your heritage? You said you were Russian,” he asked. 

Eliza licked her lips clean. “I came to the US about seven years ago, before the Avengers Initiative was even put out in the open,” she said. “The story’s a bit complicated. You just have the files SHIELD released after I joined, but Avengers aren’t open books. We have backstories and those stories are better left untold. At least to the public. There’s a reason we became heroes instead of, I don’t know, doctors.”

“Seven years ago?” He leaned back. “You don’t have an accent. That’s… impressive.”

“I learned to hide it well. I speak more than one language, so mastering accents is kind of how I grew up.”

“Really? What else do you speak?” He asked with spiked curiosity. 

She shrugged. “The usual. French, Spanish, Italian, Russian, Mandarin, Korean, Latin,” she counted. “Although the last one doesn’t count, I suppose. Dead languages are dead for a reason.”

“Do you speak Punjabi?”

“What?” 

“Punjabi.”

“Is that even a language?”

“Apparently. Foggy took it in college,” Matt said. “It was to impress a girl, but he still took it.”

“I’ve never even heard of it,” Eliza admitted. 

“Oh, thank God! I thought I was the only one.”

She laughed, loud and clear, and this time she didn’t bother to place her hands before her face. He smiled back at her, simply happy that he made her laugh. She was a complicated person, easily made uncomfortable, and tended to lock up whenever she felt like someone was getting too close to the truth. He got her to open up. He could tell she didn’t often. 

Matt chuckled again. He set his cup down, finger away from the brim. “So, Spanish?” he said. “¿Dónde aprendiste tantos idiomas?”

Where did you learn so many languages? 

She sucked in a mocking, sharp breath. “Oh, is this the only language you speak?” she asked. 

“Sì.”

“Si eso es así, no creo que tenga otra opción. ¿No?”

If that's the case, I don't think I have a choice. 

“La verdad es que no.”

Not really, no. 

“De donde vengo, aprender más de un idioma es un requisito. Me vi obligado.”

Where I come from, learning more than one language is a requirement. I was forced to.

“Where exactly did you grow up?” he asked, this time in English. His voice had lowered. 

Eliza sighed. “Je suppose que vous ne le saurez jamais.”

I guess you’ll never know.  

Matt frowned at her. “What was that?”

“French, my friend,” she said. 

“Couldn’t have guessed that.”

“Lo sé.”

I know. 

Matt cleared his throat then. “Eliza, may I tell you something?” he said.

“Yeah.”

“You’re one of the few truly good people left in this world. Whoever thinks you less than that isn’t worth your time or effort.”

She smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Thanks,” she said. She hoped he couldn’t hear the waiver in her voice. “You’re not so bad yourself, Murdock. I’ve been around some pretty awful people in my life, you’re not one of them.”

He chuckled lightly. “I’m not that good. I’m no good at all.”

“There’s a thin line between good and bad. We’re all walking the tightrope. One step too close to the edge and we might fall over and land on the wrong side. The tightrope is the grey zone, the perfect balance between good and evil – it’s not easy to keep the balance, I’ve learned. I’ve seen good things happen to bad people and vice versa.” 

She took a prolonged sip of coffee, then placed the cup back down. She studied his face; where she expected rejection of her words, she only found curiosity. His attention hung on her lips and the sounds she made. The words seemed like the perfect lyrics to a song, and her voice was the only one that fit the key. His silent approval was all she needed to continue. 

Eliza moved the cup a few inches to the right, making space for her hands to find his own where they lay crossed between them. He stopped fidgeting, the softness of her skin sending his senses into overdrive. She was so gentle every time she showed him affection, afraid she might scare him, but her actions were far from terrifying. They offered comfort where he only saw darkness. Every time he regretted his decision to come back to her, she did something that proved him wrong. She didn’t know half of who he was – she didn’t know the kind of effect she could have on someone as special as Matt. She was clueless. 

She stammered once the warmth of him reached through her skin. “Uh,” she licked her bottom lip frantically. “Is this okay?” she choked out.

Matt tightened his hold. He was afraid uttering a single word would betray him. 

“I just- I’m not good with expressions.” 

Eliza grew up with little to no physical comfort. She never learned how to talk about her feelings, she never learned how to address personal problems. After she got out, it took a while for her to trust people. Even after she did, talking became a chore. Beyond the facts in her head, there was not much she truly knew. So when she realized she couldn’t possibly tell her friends and family how she felt, she began to find other ways to show her support. She found other ways to express how she felt. Finding metaphors, using her hands to touch whatever limbs she could reach, buying random things that reminded her of the people she cared about and gifting them – Eliza wasn’t the relationship type of girl, but if there was one thing she learned it was that everyone needed love once in a while. 

Looking at Matt she realized he didn’t have many people in his life that cared enough to show him they loved him. He couldn’t believe those who loved him in the now because he grew up without love back then. He grew up feeling worthless. He still felt the same most of the time. 

When you grow up alone, you get used to it. Back then, you weren’t worth much more, so you surely aren’t worth diamonds now. The past drives us and sometimes the road we’re on leads straight into an abyss, one we can only outrun if we allow others to take care of us. 

Eliza could relate to that better than he could’ve possibly imagined. 

She ran her thumb over his rough knuckles. “As someone who’s been on either side of that tightrope before, I can assure you, you’re a good person,” she told him. Her lip quipped softly into a smile. “The things I’ve seen, you don’t even want to know. It’s horrifying,” she said. “No one good is ever truly good and no one bad is ever truly bad, but there’s those that have evil in their hearts and then there’s those that want to do good, no matter what, and they treat the people around them accordingly. You fall into the last category.”

Matt exhaled loudly and his breath tickled her skin enough for the small hairs to stand up on goosebumps. His thumb repaid the gesture. “Can you back that up with a source?” he joked.

She almost scoffed. The lack of self-awareness was astounding. “You take on every lost cause you find because you believe in redemption. Maybe because you’re catholic and that’s your thing, I don’t know, but you do it well and you don’t back down until you achieve something. That makes you a good person.”

He emptied his coffee, laughing softly. Just when he opened his mouth to give another – suspected – cheeky answer, Eliza’s phone rang out. Three loud rings in, and ‘Happy’ by Pharrell Williams began to play. Heads turned at the sudden intrusion. 

She swiped right as fast as she could. The song stopped playing. “ What ?” she answered.

“Woah!” Happy’s voice rang out. “What is it with you today?”

“What is with you today?” she asked back. “You’ve been annoying me an unhealthy amount in the past, I don’t know, five hours. I’m kinda busy here so what do you want?”

“Are you on coffee withdrawal? Or is it- are you having one of those episodes? The, you know .”

He was somewhere in the compound where it was beyond crowded. She heard orders being shouted on the other end, loud steps just inches away from where Happy was standing.

“What?”

“Do you need me to come and get you?” he asked. “Ice cream, maybe?“

Eliza sighed at his words. No matter how many times she tried to be mad at him, she simply couldn’t. He was too good, never angry, just sometimes really upset. She didn’t doubt for one second that if she’d called and asked him to help her bury a dead body, he would’ve jumped to his feet and been by her side in seconds. Of course, he would’ve made a whole speech about it, but he would never allow her to go to jail.

“What’s up, Happy?” she asked, softer this time. 

“A lot is up,” he said. 

“Did anyone die?”

“No.”

“Aliens invading New York?”

“What, no!”

“Then why are you calling me during my lunch break? I told you I had errands to run because Tony’s an idiot and doesn’t know how to do his own posting.”

“Now, I know that but shit is going down. Everyone’s, like, going crazy and they’re not good at following orders, so they end up almost bashing each other’s heads in.”

“Then tell them to pull their shit together.”

“I’m trying, but there’s too much stuff, too many people. I can’t do my job if they don’t do theirs.”

“What do you want me to do? I’m out right now. I don’t have time for this. Go ask Pepper if she can get the sticks out of their asses.”

“You’re out?” Happy asked. “Out where?”

“Lunch.” Eliza looked at Matt. She gave him a shy smile. “Which I’d like to get back to, actually,” she said.

“How long can lunch take? You’ve been out for, like, two hours.”

“I met up with someone.”

“With the lawyer guy?”

“Happy-“

“Is he there with you? Is he making you uncomfortable?”

“What? No, he’s not!” 

Matt bit his cheek. He didn’t want to smile, he couldn’t. Listening to her phone call wasn’t even something he did intentionally, it just sort of happened. 

Happy sighed. “I’m happy that you’re enjoying yourself with someone that isn’t me or a stray cat you pulled from the dumpster, but I’m kinda on my last straw here and I need someone with balls to help me out. Tony is nowhere to be seen and I can’t find Pepper. Please, Liz, help me !” he begged.

She switched eyes between Matt and the street outside the window. Another exasperated sigh left her mouth. “Can’t you just snap their kneecaps or something?” she asked. Matt raised his eyebrows. She covered the speaker with one hand. “I don’t mean that literally,” she told him.

“Snap their kneecaps?” Happy asked. “I can’t even punch without breaking my thumb, what makes you think I can do that? No, I need your little anger-issue ass over here or this party is gonna be a disaster.”

“Jesus! You know what, fine! I’ll come over right now. It’s not like I’ve got a life to live or anything. Don’t worry about me.”

“Oh, thank god! You have no idea how-“

“Save the speech for later. Gotta go. See you in a bit.” She hung up.

“You gotta go?” Matt asked.

She pursed her lips. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize. It’s work. We both have to get back to it eventually.”

Eliza shuffled to get her bag. She reached for the wallet stored safely inside, but he placed his hands over hers. “I got it,” he said.

“No,” she insisted. “We can split the bill.“

“No, we can’t. I asked you out, it’s fine. Next time, you ask me out and then you can pay.”

“Next time?” she cocked a curious eyebrow.

He chuckled. “Dinner, maybe?”

“I’m fine with dinner.” 

She stood up. He tried to follow her movements with his eyes. She was still standing there, heartbeat suggested she was contemplating. His lip twitched as he tried to figure out what exactly she was contemplating.

Eliza fidgeted with her sleeves. “See you tonight?” she asked, unsure.

“We’ll be there tonight,” he said. “All of us.”

“And then the day after that, you wanna go to, uh, dinner? Do you eat dinner? Of course, you eat dinner. That was stupid. I meant, do you like dinner? Would you be fine with it?”

There it was. The smile fell into laughter. Bubbly, carefree. No, she mistook it; he was giggling. “Yeah, I like dinner,” he said.

She exhaled the breath she’d been holding. “Oh, thank god! I was afraid you might’ve just said that to ease the mood.”

“No, I’d like to do this again, maybe not with your work, my work, Foggy or Karen to interrupt us.”

“You forgot Happy,” she said.

“Right, your bodyguard . I hope he won’t interrupt us again if- when we go to dinner.”

“I’ll just block him.”

They chuckled together.

“Oh, shit!” she realized, “Hey, are you gonna be alright if I leave? I- I mean can you walk back by yourself? I didn’t even think of that.”

“I’ll be fine,” he told her. “I know these streets like the back of my hand. Besides, I remember the turns we took. The way to my office is the easiest for me.”

Eliza watched his face for any indications that he was lying, but she found none. He was as content as always.

“Okay, but um-“ she reached for the phone in his suit jacket. “Here,” - she typed in her number - “Call me when you’re back safe just so I know you’re not dead.”

Matt chuckled. “You worry too much. I’m a big boy, I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, but you’re gonna ease my conscience. So just contact me once you’re back at the office.”

“Okay, I will.”

“Thank you.”

She still stood awkwardly at the table, Matt sitting with his torso turned in her direction. Neither of them considered making a move, but they didn’t know where to start.

Eliza ended up doing what she previously contemplated. Her hand caressed his cheeks, lips pressed to the soft skin there. He considered moving the missing inch to the right. 

“Tonight!” she blurted out. “I’ll see you tonight! At the, uh, party.”

He cleared his throat, straightening his tie – it wasn’t even crooked. “Yeah, see you tonight,” he said.

She almost stumbled over her own feet on her way out. “Call me!” she shouted across the room.

“I will.”

[goldenkamuyhunting]

Hello hello! I LOVE your summaries and chapter & character analyses! I just wanted to ask...what is the significance of the bottom panel with little Ogata and his mom plus that text? Maybe I'm reading his expression wrong, but little Ogata seems to be looking lovingly at his mom (looks like a slight smile on his face)? It's interesting that this was shown near the final battle...

Sorry, I placed these three asks together because they deal with a similar topic.

Now, as I mentioned more than once I'm in the group that believes that Ogata is indeed feeling emotions like any human being but he's used to suppress them so that not only he often doesn't show them but he manages to keep his conscious side not even aware of them.

I've a by now ancient meta dealing with how characters in the story cope with guilt trying to suppress it, as this is a recurring theme through GK.

Noda seems to remark on how Ogata is so good at ignoring his guilt yet he's feeling it by giving to said guilt a manifestation in form of Ogata hallucinating Yuusaku.

Basically, unless we assume Yuusaku is a real wandering ghost tormenting Ogata, the fact Ogata keeps on hallucinating Yuusaku tells us he feels guilty, that murdering Yuusaku wasn't like stepping on a leaf for him, an act he did without thinking about it and forgot short after.

The memory of Yuusaku torments Ogata each time his psychological defences are at their weakest point, we see it happening when he was lying in a hospital after having been injuried by Sugimoto but also when in Karafuto he get feverish and, in this case, Yuusaku's image superimpose with Asirpa, creating in his mind a subconscious connection.

Later, in fact Yuusaku's hallucination will 'stop' him each time he'll try to shoot Asirpa.

We see something similar happening to Asirpa as well, as, when she consider killing Ostrog, she can't because she's reminded of when her arrow hit Ogata.

In Asirpa the whole thing is more natural as, although she too is prone to suppress negative emotions, she's not really doing it as much as Ogata, who's a lot more psychologically damaged than Asirpa will ever be.

Ogata has likely felt affection for his mother.

He remembers her, he dreams her as she sung him a lullaby, he used to love the anglerfish nabe she made, when he realized she was going insane, he tried to 'heal' her by providing her other things to cook.

When he lies about Sugimoto's last words in his mind he basically imagines Sugimoto's last minutes were what he wanted his father's last minutes to be, him thinking at his mother, him wanting to provide to her, him wanting to eat her anglerfish nabe again.

He had genuine attachment for his mother.

I don't know how he came up with the idea that, if she were to die, his father would finally come for her.

I know back then insane people weren't entrusted to a mental asylum but left in the family's 'care' the family either keeping trapped in a room that would work as a cell or disposing of them as discreetly as possible (a common way was to bring them to a trip on the mountains and 'forget' them there).

This social background could have influenced him but I don't know if we'll ever know why he came up with such an idea.

But that act likely impacted deeply on his psyche because Hanazawa never came and he lost his mother.

Possibly it's from that act Ogata learnt to bury guilt. So as not to feel pain for his own actions, for his own loss, he learnt to bury it, to disconnect from it and grew up with the idea he felt none when instead he continued to repress it... which is encouraged because Ogata becomes a soldier when he's really young and soldiers are actively encouraged and brainwashed into not feeling guilt for killing people.

And so Ogata ends up on meeting Yuusaku who latches on him like a lost puppy, without any care for how Ogata, as politely as he could, told him to let him be.

As far as Ogata knows, Yuusaku is the reason due to why Hanazawa stopped visiting his mother.

Ogata doesn't want to play the role of the 'Ani-sama' (兄様 "older brother") to the guy who, according to what he knows, caused his mother's abandonment... and Tsurumi feeds this feeling by suggesting if Yuusaku were out of the picture Hanazawa would love Ogata.

All this eventually leads to Yuusaku's demise, which, again, gives Ogata nothing. Hanazawa doesn't care for Ogata all the same. When Ogata goes and talk with him there's the implication his mother was already starting to lose her mind and that's why Hanazawa rejected her.

My speculation is Tome was a bit like Usami, obsessed with Hanazawa, thinking he would eventually dump his wife and marry her.

She, as far as we know, differently from Usami didn't get to the point she murdered someone to get Hanazawa, but he probably saw her obsession as insanity, he likely never planned to leave his wife, which is from the upper class, and marry a geisha and this is possibly why he left her, because she wouldn't content herself with being just his lover but had the 'insane' fantasy she could become more.

Anyway, while Ogata probably managed to bury deep enough the guilt for his mother's death, he just can't work out in the same way the guilt for Yuusaku's death, which haunts him even though he tries to deny it even to this day.

It's meaningful how in chap 253, when he tries to aim at Asirpa, he senses Yuusaku in the same way as he has sensed it in chap 246, when he was trying to aim at her again but, despite Ogata being usually intelligent, he doesn't manage to make the connection between those two happenings.

Actually in chap 253 the fact he got distracted by Yuusaku's presence even saved his life, yet he interprets it as Yuusaku's ghost trying to get in his way.

He lives in denial, his father, with his dying breath, cursed him so of course Yuusaku would be there to get in his way.

Either there's really a ghost in this story or Ogata is just not ready to accept he feels guilty.

And in all this mess he stumbles into Asirpa who we can see presents parallels with both his mother (she feeds him but she also loves someone who loves another) and Yuusaku.

And so at this point we've to wonder where Noda is going to lead him.

Since there was all this big build up between him and Asirpa, we can wonder if he'll face her again and this will force him to face the emotions he repressed for such a long time.

Will this cause him to be more open with his emotions and not suprress them? Will this cause him to accept he feels guilty? Will it make him cry? Will it make him show affection for someone again?

It's hard to say.

Unless Noda radically changed his plans, as I've said many times, I don't think he plans to kill Ogata... but this doesn't necessarily mean he'll make a 180° turn from how he is.

We've seen how Tsukishima tried to face what he kept inside... only to go back on square 1 and return on being a loyal Tsurumi follower.

We've seen Koito trying to be different... but then he let doubt catch him and he didn't dare to confront Tsurumi when he understood the latter knew they were there.

Changing is difficult.

We saw Shiraishi... slowly growing attached to Sugimoto and Asirpa to the point he went into the brewery despite the fire to save Sugimoto (and we've heard Boutarou saying through his whole permanence into the group how Shiraishi changed from how he was even though Shiraishi himself denied it).

Changing is possible... but it requires time... and, often, it requires help, a reason to do so. Shiraishi changed because he formed an emotional bond with Sugimoto and Asirpa due to the GOOD time they spent together. They had bad times as well, but the good ones just won.

So, back to Ogata... even if he finally were to face what he keeps inside... how much this would change him?

Hard to say but this is not a shonen so I doubt we'll have a drastical change in a short amount of time.

The story is ending, my guess, according to what Noda did, is Ogata isn't going to die but, all the bets are open on how he's going to live.

Tears when he were to face his buried feelings would be a good release of bottled up emotions but again, it depends on how he faces them. If he does it the bare minimum to realize he actually can feel guilt, we might not get them.

There's no time for him to develop emotional attachment/affection. Either he already has it, and he is in denial for it, or this is something that will require time. So it's a bit like a videogame. Will Noda unlock this event or not?

As Noda showed a flashback with his mother of whome we hadn't seen the face yet, I expect we'll get more about her... and possibly about his grandparents.

So yeah, we could get to see a more emotional Ogata, but it can also be this won't be the case... or Noda will save the best scenes for the volume version because sometimes Noda is like that.

Long story short, I've no idea what will be of Ogata beyond that I think that Noda won't kill him and that he has been building him up to have him face 'the ghosts of his pasts' and it's possible he's meant to do it while facing Asirpa but I think we should prepare ourselves for an interesting ride because Noda so far still seems to have plans for him.

We'll see... thank you all for your asks and sorry if I put them together!

[peachywrite]

Unpleasant Pleasantries

Rohan Kishibe x JosukeSister!Reader

Trigger Warning: inappropriate stand use, mild suggestive themes

Rohan thought this to be the perfect opportunity to get back at that imbecile with the hair of a 60’s delinquent, but instead found something more fulfilling than revenge.

It was your first time meeting the famous mangaka, but Koichi insisted that you introduce yourself to the newly found stand user as a formality.

~

“It’s better to make friends than enemies, y/n! So please do this for me.” He begged, clasping his hands tightly together as he bowed.

“Koichi-chan, he ripped out pages from your face and tried to do the same to Okuyasu and Josuke. I don’t know if I trust this guy.” You sighed, nervous and even a little scared.

“It’ll be fine, when you tell him you’re related to Josuke, he won’t even think about trying anything!” Koichi’s eyes glistened, still silently begging you to go.

“Fine, but if I don’t show up back home in an hour, call Josuke please.” Koichi nodded enthusiastically, shouting thank yous while he ran off to find your brother.

~

Thanks to the written address Koichi had given you, it was easy to find the large Victorian mansion that belonged to the isolated artist.

“Come on, y/n. You can do this. Just a quick hello and you’re done.” You tried to psych yourself up, taking one last deep breath before approaching the walkway that led up to the door.

Knock Knock

You waited, your heart rate a bit too quick for your liking.

You could hear the steps on the other side slowly approaching and suddenly stopping, only to find the door creak by.

“Now who would be disrupting the Great Rohan Kishibe?” The man spoke in a sinister tone, swinging the door open.

Rohan Kishibe looked nothing like how you expected him to. He was built slim but still toned, his green hair neatly styled and face slim and sharp with a cute dolphin bandage placed on the bridge of his nose. His green eyes stared at you intently, as if he was trying to analyze your face as well.

“I-I’m really sorry I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble. My friend Koichi wanted me to introduce myself. I’m Y/N Higashikata. I’m a stand user and I go to school with the rest of the boys.” You stammer out, guilt hitting you for interrupting the presumably busy manga artist.

The man eyed you with a devilish smirk, clapping his hands together like he had discovered something amusing.

“You’re Josuke’s little sister! Oh how fun! You know, you’re too cute to be related to that boy. Now please come in, I’ll make you some tea and we can talk.”

“I’m actually the same age as him, and I’d love to join you but I got... study plans with K-Koichi!” You tried to avoid his stare but as he made eye contact, you knew you had lost.

“Nonsense! I’ll give him a call and let him know you’ll be studying with me, now please come in already.” His smile grew while he pulled you into his abode by your wrists.

The house was lightly decorated with manga related memorabilia on the wood carved shelves and many original panels from famous mangas hung framed on the soft toned walls, but the home still held a grand Victorian feeling to it.

Your original unease disappeared as you took in the grandeur of the mansion and the interesting items that adorned it so carefully. Rohan smirked at the curiosity in your eyes and the quick movements they made while you focused on specific areas of his home.

“Would you like a personal tour of the property before we study? I will warn you though, not all the rooms have been styled by yours truly yet. It’s a work in progress at the moment.” The smile he bared had you suspicious again, but you didn’t want to be rude to the owner of such a magnificent estate.

“As much as I would love to, your home is absolutely stunning, I sadly only have an hour to study. My mom would kill me if I got home late again.” A hefty sigh escaped your lips and you gave him your best upset expression you could muster.

You hoped he wouldn’t key in on your lying, remembering the warning Koichi had given you about his ability to discern genuine emotions from fake ones.

The mangaka squinted his eyes for a moment, causing your heartbeat to speed up substantially, but his face returned to its usual smile that you swore held a bit of deviousness underneath.

“Oh! it’s alright, dear. I understand. I’ll save it for your next visit. Let’s get to your work now, follow me to the kitchen. I’ll prepare us something and you can take a seat by the window.” He gently took your hand, guiding you to the kitchen and carefully pulling out a seat for you at his dining room table.

A beautiful bouquet set in a hand sculpted vase caught your interest on the table as Rohan busied himself with brewing a fresh pot of tea. The flowers were bright in color compared to the muted ones of the vase, but the contrast made both appear unique and appealing to the eye.

“I see you even appreciate the smaller details of a home. Though I am a mangaka, I do dabble in other forms of artistic expression. Take pottery for example, I glazed this vase in a muted color pallet so it could stand out on its own when beautifully bright flowers were placed in it. The two compliment each other nicely, don’t they?” He set down two tea cups and began to pour.

“Yes! And I especially love the bright purples in the lillies you picked here.” You gently touched a petal, Rohan now lightly tapping his cheek, pulling out a chair for himself to sit right beside you.

His closeness and unwavering gaze brought a heaviness to your chest, making you stumble over your words.

“Um-m thank you for treating me so well and letting me study in your home, Rohan-sensei.” You began to unpack your notes and textbook, Rohan scooting closer to analyze what you had written.

“No need to thank me, my dear. Now let’s get to your studies. What is it you need to work on today?” The smile he shares with you is comforting, but you can’t help but feel like he was plotting something.

You set your pencil bag down and prepare your notebook, trying to make yourself busy by setting up.

“Biology. I’ve only just recently started going to school in person, but I tested well enough to be placed in the highest class. Today we’re supposed to label all the organs in this frog drawing.” Your tone comes off as annoyed and Rohan picks up on it, tilting his head to the side while he reads your frog diagram.

“You aren’t a fan of biology? I’ve got a few anatomy sketches of animals you could use instead of this photocopied worksheet. Maybe that will help peak your interest?” He stands and saunters out to find his sketches, leaving you alone in the kitchen.

When Rohan returns, the two of you work on your Biology homework for about an hour, finishing the entire pot of tea in the process. You found out that Rohan was quite skilled at anatomy, having an entire sketchbook dedicated to the anatomy of many living things, including the likes of frogs and flowers. He was extremely helpful and fun to talk with.

As you packed up your bag, Rohan remained seated in his chair, playing with one of the lilies from the bouquet. You weren’t sure if you should head towards the door and leave Rohan or wait for him to stand and lead you out. You were about to speak when the mangaka interrupted with a swish of his pen in your direction.

“Heaven’s Door.”

You felt a sharp shove of air to your midsection, sending you onto the floor. Every movement you attempted was futile as the grinning artist looked down at you. A deep chuckle haunted you while he leaned in closer to your face. His hands gently caressed your cheek, opening it up like a book.

“I’m sorry, y/n. You’re interesting and I’d love to learn more about you, but I’m impatient. It’ll be far easier for me to just read you. Don’t fret, my dear. I’ll make sure you don’t remember this.” He flipped through your pages, ignoring the tears that ran down onto the very paper he was trying to read.

“Now let’s just read the juicy bits today. You were hospitalized along with your brother when you were only four, a strange parasite made up of Dio’s cells attacked your immune system at age twelve and had you bedridden until fairly recently.” The curiosity he held for your story excited him, the pen he held in one hand quickly wrote onto the notepad he placed on the floor beside your head.

You felt like sinking into yourself, ignoring his quips and teases as the embarrassment of the mangaka reading your thoughts and feelings enveloped you. It wasn’t fair. Why did he have to be this way? He was so kind before and just like a flick of a switch, he changed.

“Oh, now how did you escape that? Here we are, thanks to Mr.Joestar’s Hamon lessons, you not only came back from your illness, but gained a proper stand and the ability to wield Hamon just like your father and great grandfather! Wait, what’s this new paragraph about?” He squinted closely, reading your page out loud again.

“I have to visit Rohan Kishibe today because Koichi told me to. He practically begged. Even though I’m scared, Koichi gave me his word that nothing bad would happen. Rohan Kishibe looks very different from what I imagined a mangaka to look. Well, what did you expect me to look like?” His smirk grows as he continues on.

“Ah, another new bit is here! Rohan Kishibe is very good at anatomy, he’s been kind and helpful, I’d like to get to know him better. I think Josuke was just overreacting when he called Rohan Kishibe pure evil. I could see us being friends.”

His smile disappears skimming the next sentence, his usual tone of voice changed as he starts to read. He sounded upset, hurt even.

You were the one being wronged here! Why would he get upset? He doesn’t have the right.

“Josuke was right. Rohan Kishibe is not nice, he is terribly mean. He’s using me for his entertainment. He doesn’t care. Rohan Kishibe is not kind, he is not helpful, he is cruel, I don’t want to get to know him. I want to forget him.”

“I hate Rohan Kishibe. I hope to never see him again.”

Rohan paused, looking away from your pages, trying to focus on anything else for the moment.

“W-well, I’ll just fix this last paragraph and erase it from your mind. You’re being dramatic, I’m not as terrible as you describe me.” Chuckling to himself, he tries to laugh off his obvious pain and attempts to regain his composure.

“No! I won’t let you erase my emotions!” You shouted, a wave of Hamon spreading through his arm as his pen touched your page, his attempt to rewrite your memory foiled.

The mangaka was sent flying back, his right arm dropping the pen and your face finally shutting closed, returning your ability to move. Although you were upset at the betrayal of trust you gave the man, you felt a twinge of guilt in your heart when you spotted his still form draped across the wood floor, cradling the arm you had burned with your Hamon.

Running to his side, all thoughts of malice left your body while you attempted to get a better look at his injury. His arm was still intact thankfully, but it was badly burned and needed to be set correctly and quickly if he ever wanted it to heal properly. You took a deep breath and turned Rohan over to see if he was still conscious.

“Oh god, Rohan I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened.” Your eyes fill with tears again as you see the artist weakly rest himself against the wall, still holding his arm close to his chest.

“No, no it’s alright. I brought this on myself. I accept that.” He grimaced, trying to take a peek at his injuries but too frightened to actually check.

“You read my thoughts and history, it wasn’t right but you didn’t physically hurt me. I don’t know how that happened, but I promise you I’ll fix it.” You swore to the manga writer, now searching through your backpack.

When you found your pair of scissors, you went into full first aid mode, removing the sleeve from his right arm by carefully cutting the loose cloth off. After tossing the short sleeve to the side, you cut the bottom of the skirt you were wearing off into a long bandage-like shape of clothing and ran it under the cold tap water from the kitchen sink, returning to the injured Rohan.

“I’m going to wrap your arm with this, it won’t be painful if you let me use my stand, but I’m going to ask you first before I use her on you.” The man nodded, accepting your offer to erase the pain.

“Under Pressure. She’s a stand that has the ability to manipulate emotions. She can change them within a radius or focus on only one individual. When she focuses on a single person, she is only able to change their emotion to the opposite of what is being felt.” You began to wrap his arm, nervous about what he might feel when you placed the wet fabric loosely around it.

All Rohan could do was bite back his lip to avoid making any embarrassing sounds. Instead of the immeasurable pain he imagined to come with dressing a freshly burned wound, he felt a wave of euphoria. He now understood what you meant by the “opposite” emotion would be felt.

The artist never knew wrapping his burned arm would feel so good, every touch caused his breath to hitch in his throat and his eyes to water. It confused him, even though he understood that the opposite of pain was pleasure, it still startled him every time you did one more pass of the homemade bandage.

He tried his hardest not to be flustered, but when you finished off his arm by tieing the last bit with a knot, he let a small whimper escape his lips. His hand shot up to cover his face, it’s hue now a bright crimson.

Your cheeks turned bright pink as well. You turned away swiftly, to avoid eye contact.

“U-Um just stay put. I’m gonna borrow your phone for a second and let you catch your breath.” Scratching the side of your cheek, you stand up and make a b-line for the phone, dialing your home and hoping that Josuke would pick up. You glanced at the clock set on the wall, it read 8:15.

I’m late.

As soon as the phone line rang once, you spotted the front door to Rohan’s manor fly across the main hall. Peeking your head out from the kitchen, you see a furious Josuke with Koichi in pursuit.

“ROHAN-SENSEI! WHERE IS MY SISTER YOU CREEP?! SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE HOME 15 MINUTES AGO!” He yells out, his voice echoing throughout the home.

“Josuke! I’m here! I was just about to call you. Listen, I messed up bad and hurt Rohan. He’s in the kitchen bandaged up but I need you to heal him all the way.” You run to Josuke, giving him a tight hug while trying not to cry from the stress of the situation.

Josuke squeezes you once and let’s you go, looking you over from head to toe so he could make sure you weren’t injured as well. When he spots your torn skirt, his aura radiates a dark malice you’d never seen him show before.

“Wait Josuke! I did this to myself, we didn’t have bandages so I cut some cloth.”

He looks you over again and sighs heavily, the purple hue that was full of rage, leaving him.

“Ok, fine. Where’s that jerk? I’ll fix him up real quick so we can go home.” He grumbled, following you into the kitchen.

Even though Rohan wanted to refuse any treatment from Josuke, he finally accepted the help when you threatened to cry on the spot. His arm had returned to its previous state, unburned and fully functional, thanks to Josuke and Shining Diamond.

Josuke picked up your backpack and held the now fixed front door open for you, while Rohan stood and waved goodbye. You awkwardly returned the wave and made your way back home, your thoughts chaotic and confused.

On the one hand you felt guilty for putting Rohan through such an immense amount of pain, but you were also upset at the humiliation he put you through by reading your life with Heaven’s Door. These thoughts plagued your mind as you laid your head to rest for the night.

~

It was roughly two in the afternoon when Rohan Kishibe knocked on your front door. A short but older woman answered, complaining about the loudness of the knocks when she looked over the artist.

“Oh, my apologies. You’re that Rohan Kishibe my kids talk about. How may I help you, Mr. Kishibe?” She asked with a warm tone to her voice, leaning against her door frame and smiling up at him.

“Is y/n in? I’d like to deliver this to her personally.” He spoke softly, shaking the box he held in his hands.

Your mother couldn’t help but chuckle to herself. He appeared to be anxious and uncomfortable, most likely it was his first time gifting something like this.

“She’s not home yet, but give her five minutes. Why don’t you come in? You can wait for her up in her room, just don’t go raiding her drawers or anything.” She joked, Rohan’s cheeks turning vivid scarlet.

“I’m only pulling your leg, sweety. I know you’re better than that. Now come on! Have a seat at her desk and I’ll bring you up some lemonade.” Rohan followed her inside.

When they reached your room, Mrs.Higashikata opened the door and waved her hand to your desk seat.

“Pull up that chair there and I’ll be back with some refreshments.” Her smile gleamed at him. She walked off to the kitchen, leaving the artist alone in your room.

Rohan browsed around your room, taking in the personality that was apparent by the many bits of decor that gave your little private space a peculiar style. Your walls held photos printed on Polaroid film, sketches presumably drawn by you, and posters of your favorite video games and shows.

When he glanced around your room, he was immediately caught off guard when he spotted two volumes of his very own manga, propped up and on display in your bookcase. To say he was flattered was an understatement, he was completely floored. You were a fan of his?

His heart was heavy all of a sudden, he felt a dreadful pain in his chest while he held the book in his hands. He turned his head toward the doorway when he heard your voice greet your mother. To regain himself, he quickly skimmed through the pages of the manga he was holding, hearing your distant conversation come to an end.

You entered the room. Dropping your bag at the corner of the closet, your eyes never leaving Rohan while you take a seat on your bed. The mangaka gently placed your copy of Pink Dark Boy back in its original position, turning around now to face you.

“I’d like to humbly apologize for my abhorrent behavior and actions yesterday. I was terrible. I know it might be asking too much of you, but I brought you this as a peace offering. I want us to start over. I’d like to get to know you the right way.” He passes you the box he was carrying with him, nudging you to open it.

Casually unknotting the bow and removing the lid from the bottom, you slowly lift what appears to be a white sundress out of the box. It was beautifully made and looked to be just your size.

“I know it’s not the skirt you tore, but I felt like you deserved something a little more unique.” He averts your gaze quickly when you attempt to gauge his reaction.

The mangaka appears to be flustered, apparently not very used to apologizing. His eyes held a fear of rejection but also a glimmer of hope. A breath you never knew you were holding was released with a quiet hum.

“It’s beautiful, thank you, but do know that buying me things isn’t going to repair my trust in you. We can at the very least start over though.”

Rohan smiled to himself, thankful for your empathetic nature, and nodded a quick yes.

“Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, how about we take that dress and enjoy some tea at the cafe? My treat.”

[my-emotional-self]

Toxic Love Chapter 7

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Summary: Finding out your soulmates were Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes was one thing.  But when someone from your past comes back to haunt you, you have to figure out if a relationship with two super soldiers is something you really want to pursue or if you’d rather go back to your comfortable single life.

Series Warnings:  18+, Swearing, Angst, Fluff, past mentions of rape, self-harm, attempted rape, domestic violence, stalking, death threats, possible Dark!Steve?, Steve will be an asshole a LOT in this series but I don’t know how dark it will get, explicit sexual content, mental health issues, kind of A/B/O dynamics but not really (no they are not actual wolves, more like the hierarchy), mentions of suicide, flashbacks of suicide, nightmares

A/N: There will be no taglist for this story!  I apologize in advance!

8 Years Ago – Age 17

“Y/N, do you know why you are here?” the shrink asked from across the large desk.  You looked down at the typical uniform of a patient at a psychiatric ward.  Yes you knew why you were in here.  A few months ago you witnessed your father’s dead corpse hanging in your living room.  The next thing you knew you were writing a suicide note of your own and your foster parents found it before you could do anything.  Now, you were stuck in a psych ward, probably until you at least turned 18.

“Yep,” came your short response.  

The shrink glanced down at her papers in front of her, going through all of your notes.  “We want to help you as best we can Y/N.  You’ve been through some very traumatic experiences in your life and you’ve witnessed a great deal.  We are going to get you all the help you need.”

3 Months Later

“Have you heard of Borderline Personality Disorder Y/N?” your psychiatrist, Dr. Wang asked.  

That made your head snap in her direction.  Here you were, still stuck in the psych ward after three months and you weren’t sure why.  “I’ve heard of that, yes.  But I thought I was just depressed,” you mumbled, chewing on your fingernail.  

You were clinically diagnosed with depression shortly after coming here.  

“Well, that’s what we originally thought at first.  But the longer you’ve spent time here, the more I and the rest of the staff have discovered it is BPD.  You’re intense mood swings, combined with your ongoing feelings of emptiness and the intense bouts of anger you have are all signs of BPD. We are going to switch up your medications and that will really help with your mood swings and anger issues.

~~~

 No matter how hard you tried, sleep never came to you that afternoon.  You tossed and turned all afternoon in your bed and nothing seemed to be working.  Not only that, but you were really starting to get more irritable as the day went on and you knew it was time to change the dosing of your medication.  It was like clockwork, every year to year and a half. The only problem was that you couldn’t leave the tower without Steve, Bucky or an anyone else.  How were you supposed to get an appointment with your Psychiatrist if you couldn’t leave the tower alone?  This only increased your anger and frustration as you got out of bed to get ready.    

You brushed your teeth and put on a some jeans and a t-shirt, not really caring what you threw on. All of the specific clothing you wore for work was in the closet of your game room along with your makeup and accessories.  

Upon leaving your room, you saw Steve and Bucky sitting at the island in the kitchen of your shared apartment.  They both looked deep in thought over some paperwork and you assumed it was for work.

Grabbing a bottle of water from the kitchen, you were about to head into the elevator as you didn’t want to disturb them, but Steve spoke up and caught your attention.  “Where are you off to?”

“Oh, umm, I’m heading down to my game room.  I’m going to work tonight,” you mumbled out as you pressed the button for the elevator. You noticed it was on the ground floor and it would take a few minutes to get to your level.  

“What time do you plan on being done?” Steve questioned.  

You huffed in annoyance, already irritated as anger began to creep through your bones.  “I don’t know.  Whenever I get done,” you snapped.  Immediately you felt regret, but sometimes your emotions got the better of you when you were in dire need of a medication change.  

“Hey, what’s with the attitude?” Steve commanded as he got up from his seat and stalked over to you, hands on his hips.  You noticed Bucky looking at you from his seat with furrowed brows.  They had never seen you angry like this.  You were always so compliant and easy going.  

“Look, I’m sorry.  I’m just tired is all.”

Steve looked at you sharply, his lips in a thin tight line.  “Alright.  Just make sure you get to bed at a reasonable time tonight.  Promise?”

“I promise,” you answered back.  

~~~

In the comfort of your game room, you quickly got to work.  Digging through your closet, you decided on a light pink tank top that said ‘Gamer Girl’ in black letters with two gamer controls on it.  Since your webcam only showed your top half, you threw on a black pair of cotton shorts to be comfortable.  

Next, you put your hair up in space buns, making sure they were situated just right so they wouldn’t be in the way of your headphones.  You put on your typical game night makeup: bright pink eyeshadow with dark smoked out liner, some mascara and blush and you were good to go.  

Turning on your monitor, you began to power everything up and once that was done, you logged in. Immediately your followers started putting in their messages off to the side and you smiled as you read them. You always tried to read as much of them as you could.  

As the night went on, you knew you should pack it up and listen to what Steve said; getting to bed at a descent time and getting rest.  But you were having way too much fun tonight and so were your followers. It was one of the best nights you’d had in months and not just money wise.  

Ignoring the clock you continued to play and interact with your followers with the microphone that was attached to your headphones.  Every so often you would glance to your messages box and see what some of them had said.  Most of them were cheering you on but of course you always had some haters in there as well.  

It was when you noticed the screen name of one of them that made your blood run cold.  JSmith20. ‘It can’t be’ you thought to yourself, trying to keep as composed as possible as hundreds of people were watching you game in this very moment.  

John’s last name is Smith and he always told you how his favorite number was 20, because that was how old you were when you met him.  No, but he’s still in prison.  He hasn’t gotten out.  He’ll be in there for many more years to come.  It had to be one of his friends right?  The same friend that had been delivering those letters to your old apartment.  ‘Yes, that’s right.  It’s just one of his friends trying to torment you’ you thought to yourself.  

Then, the person behind that screen name typed a message into your message box.  

Hey babe.  Do you miss me yet?  I can’t wait to see you – J

Yep, your composure went out the window reading the message.   Then another message from him popped up.  

I see you are no longer living in that little one bedroom apartment.  Did you really think you could up and move and I wouldn’t be able to find you?  Oh babe, how cute.  I will find you and we will meet again soon.  I promise – J

As you stared at the words on your screen, you heard groans from the other players on your team.  You had just lost the game.  

“Shit,” you swore, anger bubbling up inside of you.  “Fucking damnit!”  You slammed your fist on the desk.  

You rarely lost games. Losing always put you in a foul mood. But because of already being irritable and your emotions on over drive, losing just made everything worse.  

Looking at the clock it was just before five in the morning so you logged off and shut everything down.

You took your hair out of the buns, immediately feeling the tension in your head ease.  Ever so quietly, you opened the door and poked your head out into the hallway.  It was bitch black so you used your phone as a flashlight and tiptoed to the elevator. Before pressing the button on the elevator, you paused.  What if the noise of the elevator woke up Steve or Bucky?  You had promised Steve that you would get to bed at a descent time and seeing as it was just about five in the morning, well, you kind of figured you’d be in trouble.  

Instead, you opened the door to the stairs which was situated right next to the elevator.  At least taking the stairs would be much quieter.

You climbed the stairs up a few levels until you reached your living level and you waited on baited breath for a few moments.  Nothing. Nothing but silence.  As quiet as a mouse, you snuck through the door and dashed to your room, thanking your lucky stars that the palm scanner didn’t make any noise.  

You took a nice hot shower, washing off all of your makeup and the stress of the last few hours.  As much as you wanted to forget John messaging you, it wasn’t going to happen, neither was any sleep.  

Rather than even bothering to get into bed and try to relax, you sent an email to your psychiatrist letting her know that you would more than likely need a dose change on your medications.  Frantically typing away at the email, you explained how you were beginning to get irritated and it was harder for you to control your bouts of anger.  

Luckily for you, Dr. Wang was an early bird and she emailed you right back.  She wanted you to come see her for an appointment and your heart immediately dropped.  That wasn’t going to happen as one of your rules was that you weren’t allowed out of the tower by yourself.  And as much as you liked Darcy, you couldn’t trust her to go with you and not say anything to Steve or Bucky.  

Typing out your reply, you explained that you were unfortunately not able to meet in person and if there was anything else that could be done.  After you hit sent, you began to pace in your apartment, clearly on edge with everything going on.  You just wanted to feel better; you hated feeling this way.  It was as if you weren’t in control of your body and you definitely weren’t in control of your emotions.  

A notification came through your laptop and you rushed towards it, almost tripping over your feet. As you read her words, you could have cried right then and there.  She had agreed to a phone call appointment and she had time right now to discuss things with you.  

Grasping your phone, you dialed her number.

“It’s good to hear from you Y/N,” Dr. Wang stated as she answered the phone.  

“Oh Dr. Wang it is so good to hear your voice.”

She let out a soft chuckle. “Yes, it has been a little over six months since we’ve last spoken.  How are things going with you?”

“Where to begin,” you started off saying.  You let her know that you indeed met your soulmates and had moved in with them. You went over the rules that Steve had given you and she made you feel better as she stated she had seen way worse rules.  Hell, she said your rules were like a walk in the park compared to some she has heard.

“Alright, now, let’s get down to business.  How are you feeling these past few days?” she asked curiously.  

“Ugh, not good. Moving was stressful but I have been feeling really irritated over the last few and I’ve had a few bouts of anger rush through me that makes me want to punch something, but I’ve luckily been able to hold back on that.”

“What about any risky behaviors such as reckless driving, spending sprees, binge eating, drug abuse or sabotaging anything positive in your life?”

“Not yet,” you stated. You knew the routine.  She was going over all the symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder to see what has changed with you.  

“Ok good.  How about any intense fears of abandonment or rejection?”

That question always hit you like a punch to the gut.  The only reason you had stayed with John for so long was because of that right there. He purposely wouldn’t let you see Dr. Wang or he wouldn’t take you to get your medications refilled and because of that, you were starting to feel those feelings; not wanting to be abandoned no matter what.  

“Nope,” you replied.  

“Ok then.  I am going to increase the dosing on your current medications but I want to warn you.  Without you coming in and personally seeing me and without getting some blood work done, I don’t know how well this dosing is going to work, if it will work at all. We might need to discuss changing the medication all together,” she stated.  

“I understand Dr. Wang. And do you think maybe you could prescribe some sort of sleep medication for me too?”

“I can prescribe a one week trial of a sleeping medication for you.  After that, I really need you to try and come see me in the office and we can discuss that further.  Now, did you want me to send these prescriptions into your regular pharmacy?”

“Yes, that would be great. Thank you so much Dr. Wang.”

“No worries at all Y/N. Give the office a call and get an appointment set up.”

“I will.  Thanks again.”

Now that you had your medications all taken care of, you had to figure a way to leave the tower so you could get them.  

[hartofhearts]

Tifa’s fear of ghosts: it’s not new but IS improved

Remake expanded on a ton of themes, concepts, and scenes, and the train graveyard was one of them. One of the new additions was Tifa’s (adorable) fear of ghosts in the train graveyard.

She is oh-so-concerned...

And oh-so-worried.

But... while the ghost aspect of the train graveyard is new, I don’t think Tifa’s fear of ghosts is. 

Tifa’s fear in OG

Before the incredible set piece that is the Lifestream, we have a short, very easy-to-forget scene featuring Tifa in a black abyss. 

While the scene begins with the sound of dripping liquid and ends with the sound of radio static, it is mostly silent. But still, Tifa seems haunted and hounded by wordless, accusing voices.

This scene is only ever mentioned once: when Cloud and Tifa are talking under the Highwind. And Tifa alludes to what those silent accusations were...

Tifa: But when we were in the Lifestream surrounded by all those screams of anguish, I thought I heard your voice...

Screams of anguish from the Lifestream, which suggests that they were the anguished screams of the dead... of ghosts. 

But why is Tifa scared of these voices? We get a hint when she defends herself in the black abyss scene:

Tifa: No! It’s not me! I’d never do anything like that!!

They’re accusing her of crimes that she’s committed... perhaps crimes against them? Personally, I believe this is a subtle callback to a theme which was underexplored in OG: Tifa’s guilt over Sector 7.

In OG, Tifa briefly admits that she can’t fully blame Shinra for the plate fall:

Barret: This is all screwed up! They destroyed an entire village just to get to us! They killed so many people...

Tifa: ...are you saying it's our fault? Because AVALANCHE was here? Innocent people lost their lives because of us?

B: No, Tifa! That ain't it! Hell no!! It ain't us! It's the damn Shinra! It's never been nobody but the Shinra! They're evil and destroyin' our planet just to... build their power and line their own damn pockets with gold! If we don't get rid of them, they're gonna kill this planet! Our fight ain't never gonna be over until we get rid of them!!

T: ...I don't know.

B: What don't you know!? You don't believe me?

T: It's not that. I'm not sure about... me. My feelings.

The combination of these two scenes shows us the evolution of Tifa’s psyche--she does feel responsible for the deaths at Sector 7, and can’t bear to face the people she indirectly killed. Which gives her a new reason to fear the spirits of those who passed, particularly in the Lifestream when they can finally confront her.

But what about Remake? 

While OG shows us that Tifa fears the ghosts of Sector 7, that fear wouldn’t apply to the scene in Remake. The train graveyard chapter is before the fall of the plate, so Tifa shouldn’t have any misgivings about the dead yet, right?

I actually wonder if they are expanding on this theme for Remake. Given her history, it makes sense that Tifa would be afraid of ghosts even before the plate fall.

Consider:

she watched her entire village get killed and was apparently the only survivor until Cloud came on scene

she was conscious (unlike Cloud) for five years and had to process these deaths--and possibly survivor’s guilt--over that time

Remake Tifa is slightly different from OG Tifa: in OG, her feelings about AVALANCHE’s terrorism are more ambiguous, but in Remake she is clearly conflicted and feels significant guilt over the loss of innocents. However, in both OG and Remake she states she hates everything about Shinra during the Nibelheim incident. So what happened to that blind rage in “present day” Tifa? Why was it replaced with this nuanced concern for the innocents who are part of Shinra? Something must have happened before the events of Remake to make Tifa feel this way... perhaps she’s self-reflected on the deaths of innocents prior to Remake, be they the deaths that occurred during the Nibelheim incident or something new we haven’t yet seen

Given the above, she likely doesn't have a great relationship with death and probably wouldn’t want to confront any of the people who died in her past... thus would have a fear of ghosts. She’s not necessarily afraid of death or the unknown or general spookiness, but afraid of confronting her own (self-perceived) sins against the innocent.

I’m hoping that Remake continues to build upon Tifa’s expanded fear of ghosts. I hope it’s not just an omg-so-cute throwaway moment, but a symptom of Tifa’s deeper psyche.

 💫 ✨ 🌙

It’s #tifaweek! While I’ve previously written about her desire to be Cloud’s hero and her irreplaceable role in saving Cloud in the Lifestream, I wanted to write something purely about her that highlights some of the complexity of her character. Hopefully before the end of this week I’ll be able to touch upon SOMETHING on topic. All I want do to is honor this queen the way she deserves 🌟

[jackarychaoti]

DWC2021-15 - Memory/Chase

TW: Blood | Body Horror | Disturbing Images

-[ MUSIC ] -

Insanity.

In Azeroth, it was known as The Madness, The Darkening, the Dragon’s Sickness... The Nightmare. In many worlds, in millions of languages, it had endless names but it always meant the same thing. A corruption, often brought on by nightmarish feelings or situations, that ate the being alive, twisting it into something else entirely. Dragons fell particularly hard to such a toxic curse, especially.

This was no exception.

“DO NOT LET HIM GET INTO THE FOREST, WE’LL FUCKING LOSE HIM FOREVER!!”

Lokitan screamed as a mere handful of the Heran army raced upon war-bred Granondo, a clove-hooved type horse with coiled horns, best used to ram incoming enemies. Terrifyingly fast creatures that feared nothing in the heat of battle and yet they could not quite keep up with the terror streaking through the rotting fields of a dying wasteland and seemed even less inclined to get anywhere near it.

The target they hunted was a slithering creature running on all fours, bones twisted and inhuman with long tendrils of muddied hair, making the thing look even more sickly in the way that it hung over the face. Now and then, piercing silver eyes would dart back to see just how much closer its pursuers had come in the wild hunt, noting the way the warriors had begun to flank it. If only it could reach the edge of the forest, the beast would have a far better tactical advantage and a speed increase, let alone an easier time to attack those that hunted it.

“Loki!” A voice called out and soon a female rider pushed her steed up to the Dread Prince himself, eyes narrowed, glancing over in his direction. Fire blazed all around her, the snowy locks of her hair wild and free as a hellish set of crimson eyes flitted to the dark-haired rogue. “What do we do if it gets to the forest before we can reach him?!”

“You pray to your mother that we take him down before that.”

Chaos.

It was absolute chaos and he had just told her to pray to the deity that created it.

Inch after inch, Lokitan pressed forward, signaling the General’s finest men to continue flanking the beast, heels dug in harder into his skeletal Granondo to push onward and finally close in the distance of the skittering cretin running on all fours. Once close enough, the agile Prince pushed himself to crouch atop the saddle; he lunged, flickering through the very shadows to reappear right on top of the nightmarish beast. He dared not draw a weapon.

Not against this one.

The clashing form was greeted by the muddied, anemic animal twisting itself to bite hard at its would-be attacker, using the momentum to kick Lokitan right off and send him flying. That mere few seconds to protect itself was costing its safety to get into the forest. A loud shrieking cry pierced through the veil of carnage, knowing the chase was quickly coming to an end. Claws grabbed at the deep red mud below, years of war and corpses all around, the thick blood of countless soldiers meshed together with protected soils and painful, bitter rain. The slick surface had the creature try another attempt to break free, slipping the first few steps.

It was so close… The forest was but a hundred yards away.

Lokitan rolled through the slimy fighting ground, catching himself to snag at the beast’s ankle, yanking it back to throw it in the other direction. He was doing all he could to buy the warriors more time to position themselves and close in on the fighting pair.

“It doesn’t have to be this way, Jack.”

Melted silver raised from under the long strands of hair while the beast hunched itself further, a deep snarl and razored fangs revealed themselves in a warning. The aggressive display had Loki push himself to stand and raise his clawed hands, exposing that he was as unarmed as he could possibly be. He stared down at the nightmare-fueled version of his cousin, his best friend who he knew was in so much pain that he had allowed the darkness to consume his heart.

“Look at me, Jackary… I don’t want to hurt you, hn..?”

There was a brief pause and for a moment, the world stood still. Even the droplets of sweat and foul mud froze in place for a fraction of a second while the thing Lokitan referred to as ‘Jackary’ mulled over its choices. Heavy breaths of air pushed out, bellowed in smoke pouring from its twisted jaw that was filled with acidic drool that flopped to the ground in large globs - a clear sign of the beast’s stress.

“Let’s get you home… Let’s get cleaned up…” A leather-clad hand dared to reach for the unholy creation but within a blink of an eye, time sped back up. Teeth snapped at the grasp, claws raised to full-on attack the one being that kept the beast from the forest it was trying to get to.

“FUCKING--!” Loki found himself head to head with the writhing mass of acid-spitting, half-transformed wyrm, a Beast of Insanity that wore a Prince’s crown and who was upsetting the balance of life and death. Without one, there couldn’t truly be another. Every snap of the jowls and swipe of talons was blocked or barely dodged, up until Lokitan lost his footing.

Slipping, he found himself under those wild jaws, hands clasped the wide-open maw above him that threatened to clamp down on his face and bite his skull clean in half. Muscles ached, his posture shook from trying to push what was once his peaceful, loving cousin off him. It wasn’t until another bubbling mixture of acid was seen dripping from under the beast’s tongue that the rogue knew he was in deep trouble… He was going to have to hurt the beast or die.

One hand released the mouth and in a split-second decision, the palm shoved up hard to strike at the creature’s jawline, his intensely sharp claws sliced the beast’s right jaw, stunning and pushing it away, jarred in surprise. It left Lokitan with just the smallest leeway to raise his hand up in the air, giving a hidden signal.

The Insanity-addled creature hissed loudly but before it could turn to lunge the last few steps to disappear into the forest and become a haunting ghost, a slough of chains and ropes fell atop it, blanketing the wild creature. The engineered nets implanted themselves into the dirt below, radiating pulsations of electrical charges to stun the captured beast into a horrifying submission. The haunting screams of agony, half-human, half-dragon rang out in a near ear-shattering volume.

Only when it stopped struggling to even stand did the shocking currents of energy cease their barbaric, but effective, handling.

“Are you hurt?” The woman from earlier charged forward, sliding down from her fiery warsteed to help Lokitan up from the wet earth.

“No,” Lokitan spat out, snagging the hand to be hoisted up, wincing when it indeed hurt to put any sort of weight on one of his legs. Glancing down at it, he was sure there was likely a fracture somewhere... But now wasn’t the time to dawdle.

“Well, you’re not dead, dear brother, so…” Musing, she helped at least support the Dark Prince, glancing down at the wheezing, now bleeding beast. “This isn’t curable, you know. When someone falls to the Insanity, they don’t come back.”

“Untrue,” Loki quipped, hobbling over with his sister’s help until he was able to ease down and sit next to the captured animal. A gloved hand reached forward, pushing the black hair from its face to indeed reveal a half transformed Jackary, the silver spiral of his eyes a dead giveaway at the corruption. “There was a Priest once who fought it and contained it. Rumour has it he wanders around with a single spiral eye, hn? Fucked up shit.”

The woman sighed, almost huffing while a hand motioned down to what remained of Jack. “Look at him, Lokitan. Half transformed, his brain isn’t fucking in there anymore. Put the thing out of its misery and let the avatar of Life be passed down elsewhere. It’ll rebirth by tomorrow, save your own ass.”

“No.” Lokitan took a moment to grip the skull before him, pinning the dragon further as a small crimson glow overtook his eyes. “He was never meant to hurt anyone, it was her that drove him to this.”

“Yeah, well, she’s pretty fucking dead, now isn’t she?”

A hand waved the antsy woman off, freeing Lokitan to simply focus on the inner workings of the beast before him. It was a rare trick the Rogue had up his sleeve and normally it was used to delve into someone’s memories, to unlock what terrifies them the most to use it against them… But what if, he thought, what if he could use it in reverse?

Time ticked by, allowing the dark, shadowy tendrils of his own essence to seep into Jackary’s form, filtering through and plucking every little bit of the corruption to neatly gather it within. A simple box was made at first, deep inside the dragon’s brain. Soon it was locked away and chained relentlessly to his psyche. A personality that he could never escape from, one that in time, would briefly show a fraction of itself and be referred to as…

Naga.

“M’sorry…” Loki whispered while he worked, remolding and melding Jackary’s very essence and memories to pull him from an otherwise impossible return. It was an attempt to do this or be forced to kill him and Lokitan wasn’t sure he inwardly had the power to do that. “You were designed to never forget.. But if you always remember, there is no saving you from the corruption that has been planted within you.”

Lokitan frowned, rubbing his thumb slowly, sweetly along Jackary’s forehead, the beast had long since stopped trying to fight back. It was lethargic.

“I am taking this from you, Jackary. This thing that turned you into something you aren’t.” Lokitan cooed, almost fondly at his twisted cousin as each memory leading up to a certain event was plucked and stolen away and yet what Lokitan hadn’t realized was that in making such a small hole in Jack’s memory, it served as an endless void. A slow-drip leak that would cause him to forever forget things after a while. A blessing and a curse in the future, but at that moment, when Lokitan gazed down and saw the beginnings of Peridot return to those eyes, he knew it was the best decision he could have made.

---

Darnath quietly clamped the journal closed with a small squeeze to the spine, the entry had been written in a far different font and form which made him think that perhaps Lokitan had written it instead. But... Where the memory that had been stolen was placed was beyond the Dragonsworn.

Stormy grey pools glanced at the snoozing blond curled against his side. Jack, in an elven form, had been cozying up for a small nap while his Knight read, blissfully unaware of what haunting stories Darnath had been refamiliarizing himself with once more. The Champion glanced to the spine of the journal, noting the number upon it, and raised his vision upward. The book he was really looking for must have been the one right before this… Maybe that one held the answer he was looking for.

| - @daily-writing-challenge - |

[aimmyarrowshigh]

Dark Greetings this Spooky Season Ms. V. Can we get a list of your favorite Halloween movies and specials? I know you have seen *everything* and I am trying to go beyond my usual rewatches this holiday month.

V. AIMMYARROWSHIGH’S CRITERIA FOR HALLOWEEN EPISODES

Does the Halloween element combine convincingly with the usual universe of the show (ex: Lizzie McGuire 2x09 “Those Freaky McGuires” is not good as a Halloween episode because it changes the rules of the Lizzie McGuire universe, whereas Community 2x06 “Epidemiology” is a GREAT Halloween episode because it manages to logically introduce zombies to the regular Community universe)?

Does the Halloween element advance the plot of the episode/series (ex: the reason Boy Meets World 5x17 “And Then There Was Shawn” is literally the best Halloween episode ever made is that it uses the horror movie tropes it satirizes to provide a CRUCIAL turning-point to the plot of the show)?

Is the Halloween episode in the forefront enough that it’s clearly a holiday episode (ex: HAVING ONE JACK-O’LANTERN ON A DESK DOES NOT A HALLOWEEN SPECIAL MAKE, LAW & ORDER 16x03 “GHOSTS”! You gotta go ALL-IN, like Bob’s Burgers 3x02 “Full Bars”!)?

Does the Halloween theme balance well between spooky and warm-n-fuzzy (ex: Criminal Minds 11x21 “Mr. Scratch” is too fucking bleak, but Criminal Minds 12x06 “Elliott’s Pond” has a joyous/celebratory tone to the ending despite being a genuinely scary episode)?

Is it generally a well-written, acted, and designed episode of television (ex: Saved by the Bell! 3x26 “Mystery Weekend” is seriously, not exaggerating, the worst thing I’ve ever watched in my life; Psych 1x15 “Scary Sherry, Or Bianca’s Toast” is a triumph of the medium)?

THE BEST, bar none, Halloween special ever made is Boy Meets World 5x17, “And Then There Was Shawn.” Period. There can be no argument, except MAYBE Community 3x06, “Epidemiology,” but I like “And Then There Was Shawn” better because the parody and homage as less… biting? And because I think it continues and addresses the emotional core of the regular BMW season better than “Epidemiology” does for Community s3. “Epi” DOES plant the seed (…heh) for the Season 3B major plot arc of Shirley’s pregnancy and Chang Deciding To Murder, but it gets some major minus points for mocking Yvette Nicole Brown’s weight with other characters’ responses to her costume, tbh. And “And Then There Was Shawn” is just fucking iconic. It is THE Halloween episode manual, IMO, if there were to be a textbook on how to write a perfect Halloween episode for your sitcom.

HOWEVER, I also have to give major props to Bob’s Burgers and Psych, as complete series, for their CONSISTENTLY excellent Halloween episodes. A lot of series that have multiple Halloween eps really phone it in after one or two, because they don’t have any more ideas for how to incorporate Halloween pastiches while maintaining the overall feeling of the series (tbh B99, while the Halloween Heists are excellent in general, is/has been coming very close to this line, and I think that if they HADN’T had to switch out the Heist to Cinco de Mayo in s6, they would have jumped their Heist Shark [and I think they know it, too, because it was lampshaded in the episode itself]) or they just straight-up don’t have any more ideas for what or how to have the characters they’re bound to parody or pay homage to a Halloween thing after they’ve already done one or two. And let’s be real: those one or two have probably been either The Shining or Rear Window, because those are pretty much the two that every show starts with.

Bob’s manages to make every Halloween episode feel very fresh and organic to the series, which I think they do have some leeway to do because of the nature of cartoons keeping the Belchers living a kind of loop of never aging, yk, but amazingly they’ve only done the “Tina feels too old to trick or treat, maybe? Nope, she’s not 14 yet, so there’s still time!” thing in a way that felt tropey once (in 3x02 Full Bars). They’ve been able to address Tina being 13/in 8th grade, and worrying about it being almost too late for her to keep trick or treating, in ways that were in-character and added to the overall episode in 4x02 Fort Night, 5x02 Tina and the Real Ghost, and 9x04 Nightmare on Ocean Avenue Street, without me rolling my eyes at the screen and going “TINA, EVERY SINGLE SHOW WITH A TWEEN IN IT HAS ALREADY DECIDED THAT THE AGE AT WHICH YOU MUST STOP TRICK OR TREATING IS FRESHMAN YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL, COME ON NOW” which… at this point, is a Feat. Because like, I’ve POSTED over a thousand Halloween episodes, right? But I’ve watched and screencapped ::checks folder:: 3,905 Halloween episodes since 2014. Which is, um, a. lot. The ACTUAL BEST Bob’s Burgers Halloween episode is 6x03, “The Hauntening,” which is just… achingly perfect television. I know I’ve posted about it before (probably a couple times tbh) but the way that it aired originally back-to-back with The Simpsons 27x04, “Halloween of Horror,” so that the evening of Sunday cartoons juxtaposed eight-year-old Louise whose family worked so hard to scare her like she wanted with nine-year-old Lisa’s family working so hard to keep her from being too scared and make sure that she felt safe… reader, I FUCKIN CRIED. Little girls being deeply loved while also Spoopy Things!!!!!! IS WHAT HALLOWEEN SPECIALS ARE!!! FUCKIN!!!!!! ABOUT!!!!!!!

Psych, though, has the benefit of not really having any, like… central tone to the series? Beyond “friendship” and “having fun with joking,” tbh? So it’s able to do what a lot of series get docked “points” for in my Foolproof Halloween Special Ratings System That Is Completely Subjective To My Tastes And Mood, which is really just run full-tilt into parody and homage without really worrying about overall tonal connection to the rest of the season or series. 1x15, “Scary Sherry, or, Bianca’s Toast,” while it DOES fall victim to the way-too-common Halloween episode trap of making mental hospitals into a Scary Thing (they are a medical normality and a necessary thing for health for many people and should not be feared), is delightful Spooky Fun AND has the benefit of having Shannon Woodward in it.* We all know by now that if an episode of any show has Shannon Woodward as the guest star, it will by default end up being one of the best, if not THE best, episodes of that series. It’s just how having Shannon Woodward as your guest star rolls. I also really like, with Psych’s Halloween episodes, that quite a few of them understand the underlying thematic scope of Horror, which is “The Monstrous Feminine Is A Thing And All Horror Tropes Are Actually About Women’s Interior Lives Because Men Can’t Write Women And Fear Women Always,” yk, in a way that is neither TOO Actual Horror, which I am too afraid of to Do, or too trite and demeaning, which is the other basic trap that Halloween stuff falls into A Lot. Like, Scary Sherry is very much about women villainizing other women, avenging other women, and being in very specifically-female pain, even though Shawn & Gus are still the lens through which we solve the mystery, and so are 4x04 The Devil Is In The Details And The Upstairs Bedroom and 6x03 This Episode Sucks. But they give their Monstrous Females dignity and breadth, which is impressive, ESPECIALLY since they’re one-off guest characters. Also, 3x15 Tuesday the 17th is just plain funny and well-done, like, just give it props for the title alone.

*(Speaking of Shannon Woodward, another amazingly good Halloween episode is Raising Hope 4x07, “Murder, She Hoped,” which is among my very favorite Rear Window homage episodes and has probably the funniest gag in ANY Rear Window ep, in Martha Plimpton floating across the screen in the Grace Kelly silk nightgown and peignoir and announcing that it was on sale at Walmart, can you believe?! and honestly, yes. Perfection.)

Also excellent:

• The Addams Family (1991) + Addams Family Values (1993) • Scooby-Doo and the Ghoul School (RAISE YOUR HAND IF YOU WERE GAY FOR SIBELLA AS A CHILD!) • Scooby-Doo and the Witch's Ghost (RAISE YOUR HAND IF YOU'RE GAY BECAUSE THE HEX GIRLS!) • Halloweentown + Halloweentown II: Kalabar's Revenge • Mom's Got a Date with a Vampire! • Z•O•M•B•I•E•S (to a lesser extent, Z•O•M•B•I•E•S 2) • Clue (1985) • Coraline • Corpse Bride • 6teen 2x00 Dude of the Dead • Arthur 21x00 Arthur and the Haunted Treehouse • Lamb-Chop in the Haunted Studio • Arthur 8x04A Fern-kenstein's Monster • Arthur 10x02 The Squirrels • WandaVision 1x06 The All-New Halloween Spooktacular (I KNOW YOU, SPECIFICALLY, DEAR @plavoptice, HATE MCU!WANDA AND I DON'T BLAME YOU, YOUR REASONS ARE VERY VALID! But this is a good Halloween special so I'm putting it on my list In General.) • Boy Meets World 2x06 Who's Afraid of Cory Wolf? • Ghostbusters (2016) • Gravity Falls 1x12 Summerween • Leverage 4x02 Ten L'il Grifters Job • The Loud House 2x40 Tricked! • Mockingbird Lane 1x00 Unaired Pilot • It's The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown! (Classic, etc.)

I'm SURE I'm forgetting some that I'll rewatch this year myself. I'm a big Halloween Baking Championship fan, tbh, which is on Discovery+ now so I recommend that if you like mostly-relaxing nice people baking cakes that look like bats and such.

I'm also IMMENSELY INTENSELY EXCITED for The Muppets' Haunted Mansion on Disney+ next week!!!

[bubblyani]

Back for Good

(Jim Davis x Reader)

A Jim Davis One Shot

Movie: Harsh Times (2005) by David Ayer

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Alcohol use, Swearing,  Violence and Sexual Content

Word Count: 9k+

Summary: Your spirits are lifted when your older boyfriend Jim Davis returns from the Army for good. As the lovers passionately reunite, you begin to reminisce the first encounter, and the unforgettable event that sealed your fate with Jim, possibly forever.

Author’s Note: One of the fantastic Balehead Accounts on Instagram once posted a photo of Jim Davis with a caption more so along the lines of “…Older boyfriend Jim visiting you at College…”. It was too irresistible to ignore. So this story was born. @tammykelly You are an angel to even show some enthusiasm towards this, even before I started, Thank you for the encouragement ! Hope y’all enjoy!

P.S: If anyone want to be tagged in specific Bale! Character fics please do let me know. And if you wanna be removed from anything NOT BATMAN, please feel free to let me know. I understand completely. 

Three.

It costed three people. Merely three for this nightmare scenario to enter reality.

A tall young man panted fast, his right hand assuming full responsibility for the broken bottle, not to mention the intense bleeding that resulted from it. All the while he stared down at his finished product: a much younger man. He watched the figure groan for his dear life, laying defeated and thoroughly bruised; as a weak stream of blood appeared prominent from his head as well, adding a splash of bright color to the dark and dusty pavement. Only in that moment, realization and bitter reality coupled up to surprise the standing man, with a sucker punch.

Which was transparent enough for the young woman beside them, the witness. Violence, Danger, her trembling heart sensed it all. For that was what his strong aura emitted. However, never did she flinch. Never did her heart consider retracting from him. On the contrary, she was compelled to trust him even further.

Especially when she sensed complete safety in him, above all others.

“Let’s go”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 (Present)      

The dusky skies appeared just as serene over South Central Los Angeles as anywhere else in the country, filtering over the streets and the neighborhoods. Cruising through in favorable speed, Mike Alonzo finally took his eyes off the road, permitting them to land on the tall, young man sitting beside him on the passenger seat: his best friend, Jim Davis.

His downcast expression was evident, with his tall frame sunken into the seat. He stared right ahead, while he sipped his bottle of beer in his suit. This posture was nothing short of a surprise for Mike to glance upon. If he had squinted his eyes, he swore he could imagine Jim as the rebellious teenager he once was. Only with a new buzz cut. Otherwise, it seemed that nothing had really changed.

Except it had. Older and forced to be responsible, they were facing times considered very harsh. And Jim just had a taste of it.

“Sorry, dude”

Mike began, looking back at the road. Shaking his head with disbelief, Jim sat up in slow motion as his teeth began to grind.

“Man! Fuck…this...shit!!”

Jim drawled with disappointment, enunciating every word whilst holding up a piece of paper, “I’m so done with this cop hate bullshit!” He added, taking another sip of alcohol. Mike nodded:

“Yeah, dawg. Forget about that! ” He smiled, smacking his friend on his shoulder in a playful demeanor, “Hey, Syl is cooking tonight…You wanna join us, bro?”

The possibility of his girlfriend Sylvia agreeing to this, was at an all time low. Mike was well aware. Yet, he was certain it was a question worth posing to his friend in need.

“Nah, man! I got plans”

Hitting the brakes in front of the stop lights, Mike looked at his friend again with surprise, “Yeah?” He inquired, looking quite pleased. Finally flashing a proud smile, Jim nodded:

“Yep! Gonna go see my woman soon…” he answered. Eyes widening seemed appropriate for Mike at that very moment.

“Yo, No shit!” Mike cried out with excitement, finally stepping on the gas, “The chick from UCLA*? You…you still with her?” He inquired.

“Yeah, Homie! ”

“Dawg!…” laughing with sheer amazement, Mike looked at Jim, “I’m impressed…really” he added, proceeding to chuckle, “Look ‘atchu…my boi Jim....going steady with the fine ass college chick…”

“Whoo!” With his soul finally returning to his body,  Jim howled, “Finer than fine, dawg!”

“Hell yeah!”

Given the state of hyped energy that erupted in the car between the two young men, it would be nearly impossible to guess how sombre it was just before. “So…so…” Mike continued, holding on to the wheel as they kept driving, “… where you gon’meet?”

“Well…actually…” Jim looked at him, licking his lips, “….it’s a surprise” he added with a playful smirk. To which Mike could not help but laugh, “What?” Mike paused, “You didn’t tell her you’re back for good?”

Seeing his friend shake his head like a naughty schoolboy forced him to laugh harder, “Ohohoho!! this is gon be one hell of a reunion, dawg” He added with sheer enthusiasm, “But seriously though, she’s a real good one too, bro…” Mike opinionated, as soon as his laughter died down, “ I mean, even Syl liked her”

“Shit! For real?”

“Yeah yeah yeah…” Mike answered immediately,  “And you know Syl, she ain’t easy to please”

Gulping down the remnants of the bottle, Jim exhaled and stared out through the window, “Shit man!” He exclaimed, “I’m really gonna see her again, huh?”

With his tone growing deeper, his eyes began to burn with a flame that could only be categorized as lustful. Sensing the vibe that did not seem so new, Mike chuckled:

“Oh yeah! My homie’s gonna get it tonight! Salud*”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The buzz, the chatter of young adults was consistent in the hallway outside. It served as background noise when the door of the toilet cubicle burst wide open, spitting a rather young woman out of it with haste. Only then did the mirror managed to identify her: You.

With your hand clutching on to a bra, you let out a relieved sigh. For within a few seconds, your body experienced a new form of liberation. And you managed to savor it on your own in a public ladies washroom. Wearing a soft smile that was easily reflected in the mirror, you stuffed the piece of lingerie into your shoulder handbag.

“Seriously?”

You jumped with a yelp. Being so wrapped around in your own thoughts, you did not even notice Yara, your friend standing there. With her arms folded and eyebrows raised, it was clear that her face was rife with judgement.

“What?” You inquired breathlessly, “Auntie Flo* is about to visit…and the twins were just swelling to …get some parole time” you added with a playful smirk, pointing at your chest with no shame. The curves of your now-freed bosom seemed more visible through your cardigan top, “And fuck! it feels so good” you exclaimed, as you washed your hands. Yara however, scoffed with amusement:

“So you’re saying you were squirming in your seat the whole time to let the puppies out?”

“What? I had to pee too!”

“Well, You could have just left right then!” She insisted with a seeming annoyance, as you grabbed a tissue.

“…and miss Mr. Linney’s Final Notes? Uh uh! No way, bitch!” You waved your index finger with disapproval as you both exited. Students had flooded the hallway by then. Evening lectures at UCLA finally had drawn to a close, and Friday night was about to make its entrance. Youth in all shapes and colors, gathered in bunches all over the campus area, even beside the beautifully lit Royce Hall. Suffice to say, all were relieved to have some time off in the weekend.

“So…you coming, right?”

You looked at Yara upon her casual inquiry with confusion, “For what?”. Scoffing again, this time in disbelief, Yara's eyes widened looking at you: “Dinner?…tonight?”

She stressed, taking a step out of the campus building, “Last week you promised you’ll join me and Chase” with her arms folded and foot tapping on the ground in pure restlessness, she was a clear visual of a loanshark. However, that impatience left her system the moment her eyes fell behind you,“…and speaking of Chase…Baby!”

With her face lit up, her tone grew affectionate as Chase, her boyfriend rushed over to her.

“ ‘sup babe!” The tall, young blonde greeted, pulling his ebony goddess of a girlfriend for a passionate kiss.

Folding your arms, you could not help but avert your eyes. All the while you drew circles with your foot on the ground. Chase and Yara’s relationship certainly was a refreshing one to glimpse upon in the campus premises. You approved of it with sincerity, even when you looked away in awkwardness. It was not on spite. Truthfully, PDA was nothing you disapproved of. You were certainly not envious of the joy they possessed as their lips played with one another, quite similarly to a steamy MTV music video. You merely looked away, for any display of affection was a sheer reminder of him.

It had been months since you last saw him, possibly 6. And constant communication was not exactly convenient for him. Not in his situation. Was he alive and happy? The sheer reminder of gunshots and helicopter whirring forced your heart to race, which was nothing short of new. Granted, you had learnt to ‘compartmentalize’, a term you recently came to knowledge in your psych minor class. Yet, you were young and only human to have those concerns return to haunt you even for a few seconds. The sound of Yara and Chase’s lips smacking urged you to look up. Finally, you thought.

“So?” Yara inquired, casually wiping the smudged lipstick off her face, “You coming?”

Carefree, yet extremely inconsiderate, that was what she exuded. A knot of anxiety formed in your stomach. For oddly enough, the sight of the happy couple managed to drain your energy out tonight. You longed to run away.

“Honestly…” you began with a sigh, “I don’t really feel so good tonigh-”

“¿Qué pasa, guapa?”

   What’s up, gorgeous?  

That voice. That deep, spine tingling tone was a reminder of your mere existence. The tone that tempted every hair in your body to stand at attention. Turning around in a flash, you covered your mouth, shocked to find the person you prayed to see all this time.

“JIM??” You cried out in a muffled tone, “Oh my GOD!!-”

Squealing in pure joy, you sprinted towards Jim Davis before jumping into his arms. Seemingly extremely pleased, Jim let out a hearty laughter. Suddenly the energy you were drained had returned in the form of a shot of adrenaline when he picked you up and spun you around, kissing you without hesitation. And you swore the feel of his lips on yours added a couple of years into your life.

“Wait, you didn’t tell me you were coming back so soon” Breathless, you pointed out when he finally put you down.

“Well, I’m back for good, baby” Jim replied, extending his arms outward with pride. Your eyes widened: “What? You serious?”

“Yep…” he grinned nodding, “Honorably discharged…and all yours”

You sensed his tone morph into a low purr the moment he pulled you close to him. And you would be lying if that did not fill your stomach with butterflies. After ages.

“Umm….”

Yara’s voice emerged. You and Jim turned back, to find her and Chase appearing the most confused, “…you mind telling us who this is…?” She inquired with raised eyebrows.

Finally in realization, you chuckled. For introductions were in order.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The aromatic scent crept into your nostrils, only to soon disappear out of the lack of attention provided. All the while an uptempo Latin Pop track playing in the background mingled with Yara and Chase’ voices, but unfortunately faded away into mere mumbles. For none of that seemed to be the key focus for you tonight. Not when Jim Davis was around.

Even seated at a crowded Mexican Restaurant, he mattered the most to you. Even when platefuls of delectable Taquitos* were served to the table, your eyes did not leave his irresistible side profile. And when his sense of expertise noticed and his eyes caught your gaze, you were breathless. You wondered if it was the romantic in you surfacing, for all seemed to appear in slow motion. His eyes remained seductive, washing all over you that it was certain your panties might melt and diminish into thin air. Those eyes were truly sorcerous, that your eyes suddenly had lives of their own to the point you could sense their figurative cheeks heat up with heavy blushes. For his eyes, they were proficient in the dirty talk as much as his mouth was. Breathing in his cheap cologne with depth, you suddenly grew aware of his touch, and the fact he had his arm wrapped around your shoulder all this time. Being lost in his eyes was definitely an out-of-body experience.

“Hey!”

Your soul reunited with your frame upon Yara’s call.

“Mmm?” Looking over at the couple sitting across the table, you and Jim were unfazed.

“Aren’t you two gonna eat?” Yara inquired with raised eyebrows while Chase had began to gobble. Her gaze questioned both your sanity. To which you and Jim could not help but chuckle in response. Shaking her head, Yara scoffed:

“It’s so weird…” she began, “…seeing you like this”. Wiping the crumbs off his mouth, Chase joined in with confidence, “Yeah! How did you guys even meet anyways? I mean, no offense but…we never thought she’d be the one…” he stressed, pointing at you, “… to have an older boyfriend who’s a Marine-”

“-Army Ranger” Jim corrected. His gaze and tone was dominant, enough for Chase to wither with intimidation.

“Yeah…” Chase nodded with a gulp, “…what you said…”. You would be lying if you admit you did not enjoy that sight.

“Actually…” you finally began, “We met a year ago” turning to face your boyfriend, “ He was back in LA during his break. We met at a bar”

“Hold up! ” Raising her hand, Yara was wide eyed, “How come I didn’t know about this?”

“Cause this happened a year ago, hun. Calm down” you chuckled, “Actually, this was even before Cin transferred. Hah! you didn’t miss much…Don’t worry” you assured upon seeing Yara’s pout, “It was a small bar, but I loved the Pistos*-I mean…” you paused with a smile, “….the beer there…” Your pause caused Jim to chuckle alongside once again. Safe to say it was a chuckle that encompassed a shared memory. A sweet reminder of your first ever meeting.

“And?…that’s it?” Chase inquired with amusement, with both hands resting on the wooden table, “You both meet at a bar one night and…” he whistled, “…then sparks flew?”

Looking at them both, you could sense the suspicion in their eyes. You longed to answer, however it was not so easy to do so. Pausing, you struggled with a response.

“Absolutely!”

Jim answered for you with nonchalance, while his grip on you tightened. For a split second you both exchanged a gaze of reassurance. And you had never been more relieved. The secret was safe.

“So…”, Turning towards the couple, Jim began, “How did you lovebirds meet then?”

Hesitation was certainly not in Yara’s vocabulary when she offered to speak. Leaving her sight, your eyes darted towards the the chilled beer that Jim placed on the table. You smiled to yourself. They were certainly filled with memories.

Reminiscing your first meeting with Jim Davis, never failed to be exciting every single time. Before Yara ended up in your life, there was Cindy. Noticing your evident sadness due to her surprise transfer to USC*, Cindy was hell bent in comforting you, thus suggesting you join her and her boyfriend Ray for a night out in South Central. You agreed, being desperate enough to spend the final few days with your roommate. Situated at the suburbs, this bar was small, intimate and seemingly inhabited by those who knew Ray, which resulted in a welcoming atmosphere upon arrival. Though the place was mostly filled with gangsters, you did not care for the slightest, when especially you found yourself falling for the unexpected; The beer.

Chilled to perfection, the beer there was unlike any that you had tasted before. And it was certainly a surprise, given they were the usual brands. You could not fathom the refreshing sensation that trickled down your throat with the first sip. That sensation tempted your hips to sway, urged your feet to move in rhythm. All in syncopation with the music that played in the jukebox under the dim lights. Until finally bumping into a man woke you from your intoxication. A man you were fascinated with in an instant:

Jim Luther Davis.

Such a pity that Yara’s gusto-filled story barely reached your ears. For reliving a memory simply seemed sweeter for you. Thus, you continued to do so.

Fortunately, Jim Davis did not end up being a handsome stranger that you simply bumped into, for coincidence had other plans. Especially, when he and Mike Alonzo turned out to be Ray’s mutual older drinking buddies. You were ecstatic. Internally, of course.

With the entire group packed together in the booth table, it was one loud but engaging hangout. Except for you. Somehow you preferred to sit right next to Cindy in silence, being distracted by two things: Beer, and Jim.

Blame the chemicals embedded in your system, for you simply found yourself drawn to him. Truthfully, it did not seem so difficult to begin with. Not when he turned out to be your type in appearance. You found yourself watching him. The manner in which he listened to others with swagger and confidence, the manner in which he held himself ; They all brought a certain air to him. Your attention had pierced through all manner of secrecy that he would occasionally end up catching your gaze. And then you would look away, quick and embarrassed. Though you must admit, it was a game you thoroughly enjoyed playing. But at the same time, you felt idiotic and childish.

“Cat got yo tongue, baby?”

You blinked, looking up. Fabio, one of Ray’s friends threw the query over to your direction, all of the sudden. And with that, the table grew quiet. All the eyes landed on you, except for Jim’s. A surge of embarrassment rushed towards you when awkward silence filled the booth. For you were definitely distracted to the point you did not follow the conversation. With you struggling to form an answer, Fabio snickered:

“Yo Cindy, What’s up with yo friend? She deaf or somethin’?”

“Easy, homie”

Before Cindy could respond, Jim’s quick reply arose. And you swore your eyes caught the sight of his hand ball into a fist as his eyes had grown dark. Oddly enough, that was the comfort you needed right then.

“Don’t mind me, Fabio…” you shrugged with confidence, “I’m just a girl hooked on her Pistos” you said, enunciating the Spanish word before taking another sip. You may have smiled at him, but you knew how much you feigned it. Awkward silence remained intact. But Ray managed to save the night, by changing the topic of conversation. Slightly embarrassed, Fabio shot you a look. All before he leaned towards his friends, muttering some words in Spanish.

“You speak Spanish?”

Jim’s low query made you turn to him.

“N-No…” you answered with nervousness.

“Well…” he began, “…you should” Though his tone was of seriousness, he did not fail to flash you a soft smile that comforted you even further.

Thus, the evening progressed. And you began to notice Jim in much detail. The more you did, you discovered a warmth that seemed to trickle down your heart. For you realized, you would not be able to stop yourself from falling for him. Hard.

You smiled to yourself, relieved Yara still did not know you were drifting away in your head, stuck in a memory.

Unable to stop obsessing over him since that first night, you remembered how you found yourself returning to the same bar the following night, alone.

Stepping into the venue, you suddenly were aware how unprepared you were. Even while placing an order at the bar counter, you remembered covering your mouth with embarrassment. Was this a mistake?

“Hey Baby! ”

Jumping in your barstool, you sighed with annoyance when you realized it was Fabio sneaking up on you.

“Just…” you feigned a chuckle, “Don’t call me baby, okay?”. Evidently ignorant, Fabio seemed to have chosen to stay. To your dismay. Sporting gold chains on his neck and wrists, Fabio was on a dire attempt to emulate a thriving gangster, when he actually was just another college kid like Ray.

“So, whatcha doing all by yourself, baby? Don’t tell me…you’re here to see yo boi Fabio?”

Keep telling yourself that, you thought. Exhaling in frustration, you maintained a tight smile, “I uh…just waiting for someone” you struggled. Flashing a mischievous smile, Fabio leaned in closer. You prayed he would not notice how your nose scrunched up by his heavy cologne with disgust. And how your body tightened when his eyes scanned you from top to bottom, licking his lips by the sight of your choker and your red, floral short dress.

“Who are we kidding?” He sniggered, “You wanna piece of this, huh? Come o-” “No!” You cut him off, “I’m really…” feigning a chuckle once again, “…waiting for someone…Thanks” you said, extending your hands in defense. Given the reaction of those around you, it may have been a louder response than expected. For Fabio turned red, making it his queue to slither away. You sighed deep. Luck did not seem to get on with you from the moment you stepped in here. Was this a mistake? When you felt a finger tap you on your shoulder, you rolled your eyes and turned around. For you were ready to give Fabio a piece of your mind.

Except, it was not Fabio.

“Hey…”

Jim greeted you, his deep tone announcing his arrival. Standing at an appropriate distance, he stood tall with a hint of swagger. Your body began to finally relax by the sight, especially when your eyes were refreshed by the open plaid shirt worn along with his white vest and baggy pants.

“Hey…” breathless, you began, “Hey!” Confidence finally became you as you repeated with a smile. The bartender caught your attention the moment he placed a chilled bottle of beer on the counter before you.

“Make it two, Hermano* ” Jim said, handing the man some cash. All the sudden, guilt washed over you as you gasped: “Oh I-”

“I got this…” Jim assured, seeing you reach into your bag. Grateful, you nodded, “So…” he began, “Can seem to get enough of them Pistos, hmm?” An inquiry left his lips the moment he received his own bottle. Smiling shyly, you bit the side of your lower lip. The manner in which that word rolled out his tongue caused excitement. Besides, his mouth suddenly seemed more delectable. Oh, his mouth.

“Yeah…” you admitted, “Can’t get enough…and I hope I never will”

You added, gazing directly into his hazel orbs. It simply was a mistake to do so, given how those eyes burnt with curiousity, urging you to blush in return, “And er…” pausing, you looked down, “ I was kinda hoping I’d catch you around” you said, looking up again.

“Yeah?” Jim inquired, genuinely surprised, “Why?”

That was when you froze. He was right, what exactly was your intention of seeing him tonight? Unfathomable on how you gathered courage to blurt that silly line in the first place. What if you dragged yourself all the way here to be rejected? What if there never was a form of enthusiasm from his corner as you hoped? What if this ends up being the story of a silly sophomore college girl, having delusions over an older man?

You chuckled with a nervous tone, “Well I-…” you paused, as your pulse began to grow loud within you, “Sorry…” you muttered, sliding off the stool, “This was just a stupid idea. I should go-”

“Wait!”

You turned upon Jim’s call. Showing his bottle, he shrugged:

“These Pistos aren’t gonna get finished themselves, hmm?” He dared to pose that inquiry with a playful grin. Smiling back involuntarily, you knew you had no comeback for that.

You remembered the chill outside the bar that night. The breeze that caressed your exposed skin of your legs were still fresh in your memory. Gazing at whatever stars your eyes could make out amidst the city lights, you and Jim sipped on the chilled alcohol from the porch. Given the fact there were little to none outside, the evening was unexpectedly intimate.

“Your uh…” clearing your throat, you finally broke the surprisingly comfortable silence, “Your friend not with you tonight?”

“Mike?” Jim inquired, to which you nodded, “Nah! he’s got his hands full” he answered with a smile.

“You guys close?”

“Hell yeah…He’s my homeboy, ya know? Since we were kids”

“Sweet. Must be nice.” You smiled in return, looking back at the sky, “I uh…remember that you serve. Iraq, huh?”

“Yes, Ma’am. Fallujah* ” Jim answered with a nod, looking at you.

“Whoa…” you breathed in wonder. Silence took over once again while your tongue  savored the beverage.

“And you?…UCLA?” Jim spoke before wiping his mouth, “Man! That’s some fancy ass shit right there”

“Yeah well… it ain’t a walk in the park…” you contradicted in a shy tone, forcing him to shoot you a look of concern. To which you chuckled, “I’m on scholarship, I mean…” you added, helping him come to realization, “Hehe yeah…I had to nerd my way into that gig” moving side to side, you could not help but take another sip,“But, I know…what a good thing I got going on. And I know… if I screw it up, then I’m FUCKED” you enunciated the end, which drove him to laughter. You adored how it soothed you somehow.

“Well…” he began, “…whatever fucking takes, right?”

You nodded, “Hell yeah…Here’s to…uh…positive shit! Hah!” You laughed as you both clinked the bottles together. The more alcohol that chose to settle in your system, the bolder you became:

“What’s it like?”

“What?”

You fully turned to him, “Being out there…in Iraq…” you continued, “I mean…I’m guessing you’ve seen some shit…” you inhaled, “you know…shit you can’t forget, right? I mean, shit like that…” you scoffed, “….that shit can fuck…you…up…” at that moment you could not help but find yourself lost in thought.

But Jim’s surprised expression made you pause. You chuckled in embarrassment.

“I’m just…guessing…” you muttered, sipping once again. Perhaps you went a tad bit too far with the blabbering. For your cheeks began to heat up with worry. Until Jim spoke:

“Well…Shit or no shit…Follow orders, that’s what we do” Instead of a frown, Jim replied, taking a huge gulp from his bottle.

“Yeah…I get it” you nodded in a fast pace. Robust, and straightforward, his attitude was to be admired. Funny you found yourself staring at his side profile long enough, his face could easily be compared to that of a statue. Perfect in proportion, your mouth began to dry out. You were attracted to him, shamelessly so.

“I-”, You paused, suppressing a grin, “…never mind”

“What? What is it?” He asked, looking at you. To which you shook your head frantically.

“Nah, it’s really silly…”

“Come on!…tell me” Fully turning, Jim insisted with a smile. His voice had its way of being persuasive. And his voice had its way of tearing your defenses down, or so it seemed. Taking a deep breath, you began:

“I kept thinking about this but…” you paused, “Last night, you said I should learn some Spanish… Why?”

Desperate for more interaction, that was your excuse. Jim responded with a shy chuckle. Certainly was worth it.

“I mean, we just met and you barely knew me…” you continued with a smile, “So…why?” As your question grew more confident, your inner desperation grew strong. Taking his last sip from the bottle, Jim surprised you by taking a step towards you:

“You really wanna know the truth?”

“Try me” , You replied, quickly finishing your own bottle, all without breaking away from his gaze.

And thank goodness you finished it. For you would have surely dropped it. Especially when Jim stood dangerously close to you, causing you to be immediately aware of the muscles between your thighs contracting. Even more so, when his irresistible eyes traveled from your very own all the way to your alcohol stained lips.

“Cause…” he purred, “…you have no fucking clue how sexy you sound”

You both may have chuckled to his line, but that did not mean your pulse did not quicken. Which increased in speed the moment his eyes took hold on yours once again. Seduction, he certainly was proficient in it. And you, were a witness. A witness who suffered from internal combustion of frustration.

You inhaled deep, “Really?” “Yeah…” he breathed in a sultry manner.

Just when you thought no force on earth could break this eye contact, the door burst open. Some men exited. Breaking away, you looked at your watch watch in an instant. You sighed. Real Life was calling you.

“I…I gotta go…” downcast, you muttered with guilt, “Class tomorrow…” adding extra guilt, you knew that excuse certainly did not put you in a good light.

“Lemme drop you then…”

Jim’s nonchalant and nonjudgmental reply urged you to look up with relief. Smiling in agreement, you watched him enter the bar with the empty bottles. And in that very moment, a tingling sensation filled with thrill washed over you, leaving no inch unattended. Butterflies returned to your stomach, fluttering harder than ever before in your life. Were you being hopeful? Could Jim Davis be desiring the same? Goosebumps traveled through you when that tingling sensation returned with much detail. Too much detail to be specific.

Until you realized it was real. And Jim’s hand was directly at fault here.

Blinking back to the present reality, your eyes caught the sight of Jim’s chilled fingers on your leg. They ran over over your inner exposed thigh in circular motion, thus, inciting the tingling sensation. Of course, no wonder the detail was accurate.

Yara and Chase were oblivious to all this, for they were caught up in their own love story as she kept yapping. But that was only the fact Jim kept on such a convincing focused face. He may be ‘listening’ to your friend, but his hand was evidently not. The longer his fingers lingered on your skin, the more you were reminded of him. And the more you began to tingle and sweat in the most unexpected places.

You were young, and unapologetically shameless. 6 months. It was exactly 6 whole months since you were last physically intimate with your boyfriend. And with studies piling up along with the expectation of a scholarship holding sophomore, ‘getting yourself off’ was never an option. Not with a roommate around.

The tingling sensation grew even stronger. And you began to hear your own quickening breath. Jim Davis’ elongated fingers, they spoke of pride. You longed for them to travel to locations far more adventurous and private than your thighs. Especially when they were rife with experience. Truthfully, it was a fact that his hands and his delicious lips and tongue were fluent in your body than your own self. Being pleasure deprived for too long, the mere thought of him ravishing you, aroused you even more. Aroused, and certainly very starved. The kind that food simply could not satisfy.

“...and under the stars…” Yara continued, holding on to Chase with lovestruck eyes, “…he told me he loved m-”

“Excuse me!”

Cutting her off, you cried out as you stood up in an instant.

“What’s up with you?” Chase inquired, whilst Yara looked offended.

“Just I gotta…pee…” you lied, eyes landing on Jim, “…now”

“Okay…” you heard Chase mutter in kind as you left the table, “…TMI, but whatever”

In all fairness, being judged was the least of your concerns. With every speedy step you took, the faster your heart began to beat. Storming into the empty ladies room, you found yourself staring at a mirror once again, with a heaving chest and noticeably flushed cheeks. It was plain to see, you were engulfed in the flames of pure arousal, and the fire needed to be put out.

And when the bathroom door opened up once again, you turned to find the fireman enter. Wearing a serious expression, it was slightly difficult to decipher his thoughts.

“I…” you struggled as Jim strode towards you, “I didn’t know what else to do-” Except he knew. When he attacked you with a passionate kiss.

Jumping into him was reflexive. Wrapping your legs around his waist seemed almost choreographed. Finally resting on the washroom sink, it was quite safe to admit how both of you were very much relieved to be the only occupants in the room. For there was no intention of holding back. Your denim skirt hiked high up, revealing your thighs in completion under the white fluorescent lights as Jim stood between your legs. And they were much cared for, as his hands gingerly rubbed them back and forth while his lips indulged yours with hunger.

“You think they know I lied?”

Breathless, you inquired with innocence. Except you did not receive an instant reply. Not when you found yourself gasping when he pulled your head back by your hair with a growl. With liberated access to your bare neck, Jim celebrated by placing equally starving kisses all over, resulting in your surprising moans.

“You think I fuckin’ care?” He chuckled into your skin, to which you could not help but chuckle back:

“Oh no, you bad boy” you purred in tease.

“Oh yeah, baby girl …” purring back, his reply incited a giggle out of you before he kissed you once again.

“Ay Papi*!” You breathed into his lips before he snatched up yours for good. Surroundings were simply irrelevant the moment the kiss turned intense, as his tongue crashed in like the rude boy he was, and grabbed onto your own tongue in a passionate embrace. They clashed against one another in frenzy, him claiming you as his. As the kiss grew deeper, your moans grew louder. When he pulled away all the sudden, whimpers left your lips with desperation. Teasing you so, Jim took a good look at you:

“¿Como esta tu Español?” He breathed low. And you were pleased that you actually understood.

   How’s your Spanish?  

Pressing himself against you, he began to slowly grind. You grew excited. Listening to Jim Davis speak Spanish was simply erotic in the first place. And since you have been studying it on your own for past few months, you were certainly impatient to show him.

“Yo…” you began, finding the words “…estudio pala-sorry…” with a nervous chuckle, you looked down, “..I know I suck-”

“No no…keep going” Jim insisted with a smile, bringing your chin up for a reassuring kiss, “Now say it again…” he added, maintaining eye contact with ferocity. Taking a deep breath, all the words clearly appeared in your head. Thus, you flashed a mischievous grin:

“…estudiando palabras…muy importantes”

   I am studying…very important words.  

Gasping was all you could do when Jim picked you up, carrying you into the nearest toilet booth. Thankfully with this restaurant being surprisingly hygienic, you did not mind. Life barely was embedded in your legs the moment he put you down, locking the door behind you to push you against it.

“Oh yeah?” He inquired, panting, “¿Cómo cuál?”

   Like what?  

Panting alongside him, you stood up straight, “Por ejemplo…”

   For example…  

Amidst his pants and his impressed expression, you grabbed his hands, placing them over your buttocks. All the while you looked at him with eyes, heavy with lust:

“¡Haz lo que quieras!”

You could not believe how confident you sounded. Smiling with equal lust in his eyes, Jim kissed you in approval, definitely pleased with what he just heard:

   (Do) whatever you want!  

Growling with effect, his animalistic nature was exuded as his hands gripped onto your buttocks with passion. His big, generous hands felt through every cheek with familiarity, as if they just reunited with a long lost friend. But that did not mean he forgot about all the other friends, the rest of your frame that had missed him as well. Moaning with pleasure, you began to unbutton his white shirt during in haste.

You simply adored his hands, for they were as passionate as his Spanish was. As he proceeded to hold on to your hips, your own hands roamed over his torso over his white vest. Except you froze the second his hands landed on your chest. Shaky breaths exited your lips as you shivered by his touch, for your breasts were at its most sensitivity even through your thin cardigan top. Palming them generously, Jim groaned into your lips:

“Fuck! I missed you, Guapa”

“I missed you more, Papi”

Confessing in return, you kissed him once more. Moans of desperation mixed into your kisses the moment his hands dipped inside your cardigan crop top, only to make direct contact with your untethered bosom. You winced involuntarily, even from his touch so gentle. Jim chuckled with seeming victory. And you were not afraid to admit, how you were simply in the palm of his hand.

Usually, during the peak pre-menstruation, you dared not let anyone come close to you, let alone touch you. But when it was Jim Davis, those rules halt by the door. He was a man who could maneuver his touch. However, he certainly was no good boy. Proceeding with his sweet torture during kisses, you were relieved to have a door to keep you balanced. For his long fingers, they flicked, encircled and pulled your now-sensitive nipples, keeping them fully erect and thoroughly visible even through the clothes.

Gripping his vest even tighter, you pressed your thighs together, for intense levels of pleasure and sensitivity crashed within you, akin to an avalanche. In truth, it simply was an overdose, and you could not handle. You were a mere animal trapped in this cage of frustration. But like an animal, you managed to set yourself free. You pushed Jim back with such force, that he ended up sitting on the closed toilet seat behind him. A surprised expression adorned his face when you straddled him in the process. Peeling your cardigan off your torso, you hinted your need for him. Which immediately was motivation for him to unbuckle his pants. However, his eyes did not fail to leave your sight while he did. For his eyes revealed nothing but pure amazement and hunger. He inhaled deep:

“Fuck!” He uttered, while his hand dipped into his hardened manhood.

“Yeah, that’s right Papi…” you breathed, maintaining the ironclad gaze. All the while you permitted his hand to feel the intense dampness of your opening, “Fuck me!”

And thus, public decency went flying out the window the moment the lovers fully united. The manner in which his hands rested on your bare back; whilst you moved upwards and downwards in syncopation to his thrusts, it drove you wild. The manner in which his generous and erect shaft felt so familiar inside of your tight walls, was too intoxicating as always. His mutual desperation and hunger translated well, as his lips savored on your swollen and sensitive bosom as if they were treasured food rations. Tingles were divided into million branches, impacting every form of stimuli in your system. But even in the midst of these endless waves of pleasure, that certain question from Chase yet lingered in your mind:

  “And?…that’s it? You both meet at a bar one night and…then sparks flew?” “Absolutely!”  

For in truth, it was not just a night of drinking and playful flirting that caused this relationship to blossom. And just like that, You could not help but recall further.

And peek into the moment that remained stored in the deepest corner of your mind. In the form of a secret.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

With arms folded, you kept on waiting. Long enough for the chill outside to grow stronger. Long enough for you to begin pacing nervously. Even long enough for several men to exit the bar during. Given its cabin exterior, it became more and more evident that this was more of an old fashioned bar. You sighed. Jim was certainly taking a little bit too long inside.

Paranoia knocked on your heart’s door, forcing you to welcome it inside with reluctance. Thus, several questions began to occupy your thinking space. Was there trouble inside? A possible Bar Fight? You shook your head, for you were surely being delusional. Or worse, was this a part of his plan all along? The player type to ditch you for someone else? Perhaps with someone better looking that he just met. Envy formed in your heart towards a woman that possibly may not even exist. Your stomach turned in a merciless fashion. When the door opened again, a surge of hope grew in you. Could it finally be Jim?

Except it was not.

“Baby! You still around huh?”

Fabio said, in a pleased tone, exiting the bar. Clicking your tongue in an involuntary fashion, you turned away with frustration. For he was the last person you hoped to lay eyes upon.

“Hey-Wha-What’s the matter?” Fabio cried, “Can’t look at a friend?” Whilst he tapped you on the shoulder repeatedly. Alcohol was strong in his presence. And the fact he stood uncomfortably close certainly turned your stomach even more.

“Well, technically you’re not my friend” With a forced smile, you turned to him, “You’re Ray’s friend, OKAY? ” a snappy tone exited your lips. And for a split second, there was genuine offense painted in Fabio’s face.

“Just tryna be nice, jeez!” He muttered low, with arms lifted. Coming one’s senses, you finally drew in deep breath while letting your arms loose.

“I…I’m sorry, dude”  you said, in a soft tone, staring the droopy eyed young man. Being Cindy’s friend, your last intention was to cause friction Ray and his friends. Your tone seemed to have been convincing enough, for Fabio flashed a soft smile in return:

“It’s okay…” he replied, to which you were relieved.

But that relief was short lived. Especially when Fabio leaned forward with puckered up lips in an instant, forcing you to gasp.

“What the hell, man?” You inquired, pushing him back with aggression.

“Ah come on, baby…” he drawled, chuckling in a playful manner, “Just one kiss…I mean, look at you! You still waiting out here. For who? I know… you really came here for me” with open arms, he went in for an embrace. Scoffing, you pushed him back again. That was when your pulse quickened again. To the point you hoped to flee.

“That’s it! I’m leaving! ”

You snapped, darting away from the entrance. The concern of leaving Jim behind or finding a cab did not seem problematic anymore, for all you needed was to get away. However, a painful cry left your lips when you felt your hair being pulled back. Your eyes widened. It was an angry Fabio.

“Ugh! Why you being such a Puta* right now, huh?” He said through gritted teeth, pulling you closer “Oh wait I forgot…” he snickered, “….you don’t understand Spanish, right bitch?” turning you to him. The alcohol had certainly rendered him more maniacal than ever.

“Don’t’ be a jerk, Fabio…” You cried, as you began to swing desperate punches towards his direction. But your defenses were lowered and moot, the moment he grabbed you tight by the wrists. You gasped, “..let… me… go! HELP! ”.

However, despite your cries, no one came to your aid.

This feeling, certainly was the ‘stuff of nightmares’. This feeling, had haunted you every now and again in imagination. To have it form into reality, was worse. No matter the force you exerted to free yourself, it seemed moot. For Fabio had the upper hand with his strength. And you were overpowered with intimidation. With the heartbeat increased in record speed, your heart was on the verge of exploding with fear. For the first time, you feared for your life. You despised the fact there was no one around, the fact this bar was on the outskirts. Almost close to tears, You heavily despised the fact you may be getting hurt in more ways than one tonight.

Until you heard a bottle shatter. Loud.

Glass fragments dripped from Fabio’s head as he cried out with immense pain. His grip on you loosened before he dropped down to the ground. Only for you to find Jim Davis standing behind him, with with a bottle broken in hand, and sheer rage in his eyes.

Rolling over, Fabio caught the sight of the man, “Jim??” He groaned, “What the hell, man? Why you helping this bitch-ARGH!”

A kick in the stomach was Jim’s choice in response, which incited more cries from the fool.

“THE FUCK YOU TOUCH HER FOR, HUH?” Jim yelled, his loud voice piercing through the tension like high pressured flames. However, the question seemed rhetoric, when he continued to kick Fabio, aggression growing more and more evident, “FUCKING…ASS…HOLE!” With tightened fists, he enunciated with each kick, “MOTHERFUCKE-”

“JIM!!!!”

You cried in an instant. And that very moment was when he finally froze. That fateful moment, you watched his face change, for his expression was clear as day. As if a wave of realization washed over him. As if bitter reality surprised him with a sucker punch.

All the while he stared down at his finished product: Fabio. He watched the the young man groan for his dear life, laying defeated and thoroughly bruised; all the while a weak stream of blood appeared prominent from his head and his mouth, adding a splash of bright color to the dark and dusty pavement.

Which was transparent enough for you, the witness.

You regretted being frozen with shock. If it only was for you to control. Thankfully a shred of it reached when you finally mustered the strength to call for him out from a potential murder. Violence, Danger, your trembling heart sensed it all. All from Jim. For that was what his strong aura emitted. However, despite your shock, never did you flinch. Never did your heart consider retracting from him or running away.

On the contrary, you were compelled to trust him even further. Especially when you sensed complete safety in him, above all others.

“Let’s go…”

You found yourself uttering those words, as you took his hand in urgency. Pulling him with haste, you both fled from the scene. Adrenaline coursing through the veins whilst running away, leaving a wounded man laying in his own mess before anyone could find out.

You remembered how Jim drove. Quiet, but focused. He drove and drove, until the bar disappeared from your sight. He drove to the point you both found yourselves ending up at a remote beach. And finally, time had returned to its normal pace once again.

Calming sounds of the ocean waves filled your ears, while the sight of the foamy waters barely were visible in the darkness. You watched Jim slowly take his hands from the wheel, rubbing his face. Your eyes widened, when you noticed his hand bleeding slightly. Perhaps from the broken bottle. You longed to speak, however no voice was present. Pushing the seat back, Jim slowly crawled over to the back of the car. Silence overpowered for too long, which urged you to clear your throat and speak:

“A…Are you ok-”

“You’re right, you know…”

You paused, upon hearing Jim’s interruption. Looking back from the front passenger seat, you found light finally shining on his face. Much to your sadness, cracks formed in your heart by the sight of his expression. Especially when silent tears streamed down his chiseled face. As if his mask of bravery was stripped away. Or even melted.

“You’re right…shit’s been crazy over there…” he chuckled with sadness, “…worse, shit’s crazy over here too…” he said, pointing at his own head.

Joining him in the backseat, you took the bandana off your head without hesitation.

“The thing’s I’ve seen…” he continued in mid-whisper, “The shit I had to do. The shit I wanted to do. It’s fucked up…so fucked up”.

It was unfathomable. Witnessing emotions of Jim Davis on variant scale in one single night, including him unveiling his vulnerability, you did not know where to begin processing. Simultaneously, those cracks in your heart, they could not help but form deeper to the point you ached inside. For a second, you were filled with an overwhelming desire for this misery in his heart to disappear. You longed for him to smile again. You froze. Were you tasting a slice of pure affection? Perhaps even, love? For him?

“It’s too fucked up…I’M fucked up-”

“Hey…hey…”

Your voice cracked when you finally began, leaning towards him, “Shhhh…It’s okay…” you said in comfort, while rubbing his forearm, “…its okay…I’m here” you said, as you occupied yourself with tending to his bleeding hand as a coping mechanism. The bleeding that he did not even notice.

With his hand on yours, the heart did feel heavier in comparison. As if his hand was magnetically powerful enough to keep you nearby. Thus, forming an attraction. Not the type that stirred the loins, but merely the kind that longed for you to wail on behalf of him. The kind to carry the pain for him. As if you did not wish to carry on another minute of your life, without knowing he would be well. And you would be lying if you did not want to show him that.

Your trembling hand reached out for his surprised face, turning it towards you with patience. The deep breath you took, it occupied your lungs in completion. Butterflies exploded in your stomach , causing a riot before you moved close. Close enough to feel his breath on your face. And close enough to press your lips on both his cheeks.

You tasted his salty tears, that stained his face. Pressing your own lips together, you hoped you could share his pain this way. Your eyes were smart, urging your voice to take a breather, whilst they gazed at his lips. Those lips that turned you greedy the moment you saw first laid eyes on them. And his trembling breaths of despair were enough for you to finally dispose of any form of hesitation.

For you finally moved to kiss him ever so gently on the lips.

With your kiss, you were there for him, in spite of it all. In spite of the violence and the tears. And the moment you instantly felt Jim kiss you back, you knew you were hopelessly his.

All the sudden, a dose of sweetness was infused with the salty kisses, weakening the flavor of the beer that lingered in his mouth. Selfishly, the need for comfort vanished. For all you needed was him. In every possible manner. Safe to say, Jim wholeheartedly agreed.

A sudden injection of passion entered your systems, setting your bodies in its entirety, in flames. Which also included the loins. Powerful enough for you to straddle him, powerful enough for Jim to flip you down to hover over you. And certainly powerful enough for the both of you to make love.

You treasured it all. The manner in which his fingers were precise, hooking on to your panties to gingerly peel them out of your frame. The manner in which his eyes gazed upon your own, then traveling all the way south to take in the sight of your now exposed opening, that dripped with wetness, blushing in its own means and begging him to explore it. Thus, it was to be expected, when you welcomed him inside you effortlessly. As if it had waited for him all your life.

Even for the first time, Jim was fast, and was rough. Yet surprisingly, you did not care. You knew where it originated. And it seemed most apt.

While he moved in body, he fled in heart. Away from the horrors, away from the pain. This resulted from his need for a distraction. Amidst the syncopated moans that filled the car, you cupped his face. Looking right into his hazel orbs, you witnessed his need. His need for a distraction. And at the peak of climax, you witnessed his desperation. His desperation, that urged you to never him go.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

         (Present)      

“I failed the test…”

Jim uttered low, capturing your attention. With your face buried in his neck, you heard it louder than ever. Tilting your head, you sat up straight to face him, confusion taking over. After reaching climax following a session of passionate and exciting love-making in a restaurant toilet booth, there you both were in recovery. Never did you expect him to break the silence with a statement such as this.

“What do you mean?” You inquired in a half whisper.

“The Psych test…” Jim elaborated, while you proceeded to put your cardigan top back on,  “…for the LAPD gig” sighing, he was downcast “I failed that shit…”

“No….” You breathed. The disappoint that was rife in his tone, somehow pierced through your heart. Thus, ushering in a wave of sadness that came crashing in, “Baby, I’m so sorry…” you said as you embraced him tight. To your surprise, Jim held you tightly in his arms in return. For when he buried his face on the crook of your neck and remained in silence for a mere few seconds, it was evident that was what he was required of. A rush of butteries attacked as you gently cupped his face.  You loved this man, and your heart was the witness.

“Fuck the cops if the they can’t relate” you said through gritted teeth, before kissing both his cheeks, “Fuck ‘em! Cause something better is comin’ ” you added with a soft smile, while your thumb ran over his upper lip, “We just gotta ...keep our heads straight”

To your relief, Jim seemed amused, “Speaking from experience?”

You smiled with pride, “You could say that…”

Both of you chuckled. “The point is…” you continued with a deep sigh, and huge smile, “I’m glad you’re back for good, baby”

Except for his own smile, it vanished right then. And in turn, his eyes watered and they shone, reflecting nothing but desperation and vulnerability. You took pride in being the one to witness it, just as you did that fateful night a few months back. Stroking your head with both hands, his forehead gently touched yours:

“¡Eres mia!” He breathed deep.

   You’re mine!  

How dare he? Expanding with immense warmth and impatience, it did not take long for your heart to gain rapid pace, as it was your very first time.

“¡Si, para siempre!”  You answered with confidence. For it was simply the truth.

   Yes, Forever! 

——————————————————

Index

UCLA : The University of California, Los Angeles Salud: Spanish term for “Cheers!” Guapa: Spanish term for Beautiful, Gorgeous Taquitos: A Mexican Food Dish Pisto: Mexican slang. A general term for an alcoholic beverage (usually beer) USC: University of Southern California Fallujah: A city in Iraq Papi: Spanish Term for Daddy Puta: Derogatory Spanish term for bitch, whore

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